


My Boy Builds Coffins

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Hemlock on the Hearth [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Six Feet Under, Anal Sex, Consensual Somnophilia, First Date, First Time, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Past Katsuki Yuuri/Christophe Giacometti - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Phichit is a Sex Therapist, Phone Sex, Romantic Comedy, San Francisco, Sex toy mention, Sibling Bonding, Victor is an Office Goth, Yu-Topia Funeral Home is Open for Business, Yuuri is a Mortician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Yuuri's always dealt with a lot of (pun not intentional) grief about the family business, so much so he's given up on making many friends or finding romance.But during one morning Starbucks rush, he meets a light-haired, blue-eyed man in dark colors and manicured nails who just might prove him wrong that no one will be able to get past his job.TL;DR the Victuuri (loosely based on Six Feet Under) Yuuri is a Mortician and Funeral Director  while Victor is the Respectable Start Up CEO Goth who loves him. With friendly assists from Phichit Chulanont, licensed Sex Therapist.





	1. Pink Drink and Dragon Frapp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts), [Lia_Rose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lia_Rose/gifts).



> "Hey Dommi don't you already have two ongoing WIPs on AO3, and you promised a group of your buddies you'd post another one soon?"  
> "Yes, Dommi. That's correct."  
> "Mmm. Okay. How about you start this fourth one?"  
> ::Jake Peralta saying "Cool" for twenty minutes on loop in my brain::
> 
> I don't even understand.
> 
> Anyways. The whole reason this happened is when I was reading Wayne State's catalogue of available majors for Taker, I saw mortuary science. And legit I considered it for that fic specifically before I said, no that's an AU of its own.
> 
> I tweeted it and Rune was like "well how would he meet Victor?" And I said "probably like a meet cute getting coffee and then when Yuuri goes to work, Victor is like 'why does the cute coffee boy drive a hearse???'" And she laughed. And I thought about it in the intervening weeks.
> 
> I realized but what if Victor is Grown Up Goth who like works 9-6 but still goes to the clubs on weekends like an Adult and he considers learning taxidermy. And well...here we are.
> 
> IDK if my friend who I'm kind of basing Victor off in this ever reads fanfic, but if she happens to, Chiara-Scuro this is for you.
> 
> Title taken from the song by Florence and the Machine.
> 
>   
>  [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/38480606120/in/dateposted-public/)   
>    
> 

Victor would be concerned about the whole showing up a half-an-hour-late-with-Starbucks-thing, but it’s a moot issue when one is the CEO of his own start up. Renewable energy won’t develop itself he likes pointing out, but also he’s in a Mood and needs his Venti Pink Drink to properly start his day. 

His intern, Yuri, called it nauseating when he tried a sip. 

Tough talk for a person who whines when he can’t get the Mermaid frapp, but whatever.

Victor waits at the bar for his order—they’re slammed right now because of Fleet Week (yes, _hello_ sailors and your amazing white pants, God bless)—and he thinks there’s at least eleventy drinks before his. 

To kill time, he checks his nails for any chips or signs of impending breakage. Nope, still perfect. The color is called Wicked---it’s by Essie, and it’s a burgundy almost as black as Yuri’s soul. It goes well with the dark gray silk dress shirt he wears with the sleeves rolled up and the black skinny jeans he has on. 

He may have (mostly) taken himself out of the Goth clubs, but the Goth clubs haven’t taken themselves out of him.

The bar gets a bit more crowded, and a man in his mid-twenties stands next to Victor in a modestly cut (but not bargain bin) black suit with a white dress shirt and a black and gray patterned tie. His hair is messy in a way that looks effortless, and it matches the color of the suit. He also wears a pair of blue half-rimmed glasses and his eyes are so…wow, they’re warm, soothing, and spicy all at once, like the clove cigarettes Victor has to have a buddy hook him up with when he travels to Vancouver on business.

Victor loves the view. He knows if he takes a pic it’ll last longer, but this man…wow. He bites his bottom lip a little and tilts his head in appreciation.

The man notices and gives him a glance. Then he stares. His cheeks turn the same shade as the strawberries that float on top of Victor’s preferred beverage. He clears his throat and looks back at the baristas.

“Hi,” Victor tries with a winning smile. “Come here often?”

Sexy Dreamboat starts, pushing his glasses up higher. “Hi,” he says, his voice a shy tenor. “Um—yes. I make the coffee run every morning for work. It's just the four of us so it’s not so bad I guess.”

“A small company?” Victor can’t keep the curiosity out of his voice. “I have a start up, and we’re only five people! Wow!”

“Longtime family business,” he replies. “Um…we’ve kind of…it’s just what we do.”

Not very specific, but sure. Victor rests an arm on the Mobile Order spot. It’s empty so it’s fine. “You can call me Victor. What’s your name?” he asks with his other hand extended.

“It’s—Yuuri,” he replies. “Nice to meet you, Victor.” He shakes his hand, and Victor lingers, enjoying the warmth of the contact. Yuuri has elegant hands, he notices. He looks him in the eye again—really, he’s elegant everywhere.

“Victor!” the barista calls. The giant plastic cup is set on the counter with a milky looking pink liquid and strawberries for garnish. He grabs one of the extra long straws, putting it through the hole in the lid and (seductively, natch) taking a sip.

A cardboard holder of four drinks is placed next. Victor tries to be nosy and tell what’s what—the main thing he sees is a green frappucino with pink balls floating in it and tons of whipped cream on top. Yuuri takes that one and sips. Victor’s eyebrow rises. “Dragon Frappucino,” Yuuri explains. “It’s green tea and berries.”

“ _V’kusno_!” Victor says as he taps his cup to Yuuri’s. Yuuri looks a bit dazed and embarrassed, like a sort of twitterpated expression in his eyes that tells Victor he needs to go for it. He hands Yuuri a card—it’s glossy black stock, metallic silver lettering with his corporate email and cellphone number. “Well, Yuuri. Keep in touch, and your next Dragon drink’s on me."

He winks, and Yuuri turns even redder. He clears his throat three times. “Okay.” He grabs the cardboard holder after he puts his frapp back in it, and he sort of bolts. Victor wonders if perhaps he was too bold, and he considers chasing him down to apologize and try again. 

He gets as far as the window when he sees Yuuri getting into a hearse. 

Yuuri drives a hearse. 

_Why does Yuuri drive a hearse?_

Be still his Office Goth heart. He might just be in love. 


	2. Belgian Waffle with Whipped Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri wakes up every day at six am, and by seven his roommate has made him breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vicchan is alive in this fic, hooray!
> 
> Phichit's ridiculous, hooray!
> 
> Yuuri has been burned too many times hoor--wait no, the opposite.
> 
> Victor "Extra AF" Nikiforov, hooray!
> 
> Thank you, Raleigh, and good night!
> 
> (Oh wait...funeral potatoes are a Midwest/Utah thing. It's like you buy a bag of hash browns, a bunch of shredded cheese, a can of cream of chicken soup, and a tub of sour cream and dump them all in a casserole dish to bake. I will die over Yuuri's trash taste in US foods. Fight me, Rhonda.)

An average day for Yuuri generally begins at six when his alarm rings. He stumbles from his third floor bedroom to the backyard for his toy poodle to do his business. Yuuri splits half of a Painted Lady, he and his rommate having somehow managed to get an "are we sure this isn't a front for drugs" deal on the rent, and it includes a modest fenced yard. Vicchan moves kind of slow these days, though the vet assures Yuuri he’s in fine health other than the beginnings of cataracts in his eyes. Yuuri always sits in the chair by their fire pit while Vicchan sniffs, pees, and wanders.

By the time Vicchan has finished, his roommate and brother-in-all-ways-except-blood has begun breakfast, and Yuuri brings Vicchan back inside as he showers and gets dressed. It’d be nice if he could dress down, but funeral home employees always cater to a certain aesthetic. Besides, he’s a highly trained professional. He’s proud to look the part.

He can tell what kind of day Phichit is in for depending on the breakfast made: if the people are all web-based then it means the _joke_ congee they keep in a big container in the fridge since he probably has a session right away. Quite a few of his web clients live in Eastern or Central time zones, so he has to be ready much earlier on those mornings. In-person therapy sessions in Phichit’s second-floor (and yes, he got the zoning, thanks) office require him to carb load. On those days the Belgian waffle maker comes out. When he has a balance between the two or the rare day off, he makes Yuuri’s favorite omurice since omelets are surprisingly tricky.

Today is a waffle day, Yuuri notes as he smells the batter once he arrives in the kitchen.

Phichit has already made him a plate, and he passes him a spray can of Redi-Whip. “Thanks,” Yuuri replies. He loosens his light blue tie and digs in, Vicchan curling at his feet hoping for a bite or twelve.

Phichit sits across from him. He’s in a t-shirt that reproduces the original Broadway playbill for his favorite musical _The King and the Skater_ and a pair of green pants covered in anime-styled hamsters. He keeps three live ones in his office for clients to cuddle with as a form of stress relief or stimulation. “Ugh,” Phichit says after a big bite of waffle with orange marmalade. “I have **them** today.”

Yuuri sips his orange juice. He knows who **them** refers to, and he stays silent because—

“Honestly, I’ve never in my life dealt with people who are so difficult!"

Ah yes. There he goes.

“I keep trying to point out to them that a separation might make more sense, because they won’t compromise,” Phichit grouses. “When one person wants polyamory, and the other flips out from jealousy...like, cut and run you know?”

“I don’t,” Yuuri deadpans. “But sure.”

He realizes too late what he’s done, and he drops his eyes down to his waffle. He focuses on eating, wishing and hoping that's it. 

Phichit’s gray eyes focus on him like a spotlight. “And you—” he says with a point of his waffle-laden fork. “When are you going to put yourself out there again?”

Yuuri sighs. The wishing and hoping was in vain. Just like every other time this happens. “When people stop acting like I’m going to fill them with formaldehyde and use them as practice for measuring caskets.”

“This many times with the same issue, I gotta say that means you’re making bad choices,” Phichit says.

Yuuri grinds his jaw. Why can’t he ever not be a sex therapist and instead just be his friend? “Turn it off, please,” Yuuri says.

“It is off,” Phichit retorts.

Yuuri rolls his eyes. A black card on the table catches his attention—it’s the stone fox of a man’s card from Starbucks the day before. He looks at it—Victor Nikiforov (that’s amusing given Vicchan’s name) followed by a mobile number, a corporate email, and an address presumably for his work. “I mean—” Yuuri says. “I sort of…this guy?.” He passes Phichit the card.

Phichit looks it over. “Hm, bold design choices for a business card. He was sexy, at least? And nice? Clearly there’s some kind of interest on both of your ends...”

Yuuri thinks back to inhumanly blue eyes and silver hair, which given where they live could be out of a bottle, salon, or natural. “He’s pretty. He was friendly. Said if I call him he’ll buy my drink next time.”

Phichit raises an eyebrow. “Call him. Today. Go out with him. Tonight. And then….marriage, kids, old age, and death.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yuuri says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “He’ll be like all the others.”

Phichit frowns, and his eyes hurt for him. “Yuuri, you don’t know until it comes up. Let him decide for himself, okay? Don’t pass on a good thing because of a maybe.”

Yuuri puts the card in the pocket lining the inside of his blazer. “Yeah.”

Phichit clears the plates and begins the dishes—since he sets his own hours, Yuuri handles dinner and its clean up most nights as a fair trade. “Have a good day at work, dear! Don’t be home late!” Phichit tells Yuuri in this weird half-mimickry of Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days.

“Sure, babe,” Yuuri replies drolly as he grabs his keys and walks to his car parked down the block. When he has to, Phichit drives a Vespa since SF is well-equipped with public transit, but Yuuri has a black and eggplant hearse like his parents and sister, though Mari's is green. The license tag reads KATSUKI4, and he starts the engine.

He does the morning coffee run for his family, all of which comprise the complete staff of the Yu-Topia funeral home. When it’s his turn at the Starbucks register, Leo grins at him. “Hey Yuuri! The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Yuuri says with a smile as he puts a five-dollar bill in their tip jar. Leo rings up a grande green tea latte with soy milk for his mom, a dry cappucino for his dad, a venti Pike Place black for Mari, and the Dragon Frappucino for himself. 

He reaches into his pocket for his cellphone to get his Stars since he's close to a freebie when an elegant pale hand bedecked in almost-black red polish rests on top of his wrist. “It’s on me,” a slightly familiar voice says.

Yuuri jumps out of his skin to stare wide-eyed at Hot Victor From Yesterday. “Uh—no, no, really, I can’t—-”

“You can and will,” Victor chimes in cheerfully. “Can you add a Venti Pink Drink to his order? And it’s all one check, I’ll take care of it.”

Leo looks at Yuuri and then back at Victor. “Sure can,” he says with this weird grin that Yuuri thinks might be shit-eating. He's honestly not sure---Leo's generally really kind and selects the best music to pump through the store. This is a new facial expression for Yuuri.

“I told you, the next one is on me,” Victor says as he leans close enough to almost kiss. Which Yuuri would like very much thus resulting in him wondering if he can embalm himself, because definitely he is going to die here. “I was really hoping to see you again, so I decided not to leave it to chance.”

He inserts his credit card into the chip reader—it’s an Amex Black. 

Actually—everything touching this guy is black. He has on this expensive looking black jacket with velvet lapels that goes to his knees, a high-end looking black shirt made of a material that casts a slight silver sheen, and black trousers that are perfectly tailored. It’s not quite too warm for the outfit, but it’s close.

He’s so cheery, though, with his perfect white smile, and his obscenely pastel fruit drinks.

“Thank you,” Yuuri manages with a shy smile. “Um…I guess…I owe you.”

“No, not at all,” Victor says. He appears to reconsider, his brows furrowing and his mouth setting into a serious line. “Hm or rather, you can repay me at a less hectic time. How about giving me your time for lunch? There’s a nice cafe near my office that has really good poke bowls.”

Yuuri loves poke bowls. Not as much as katsudon or funeral potatoes, but he loves them. “Uh—well…sure?”

Victor lights up even more. “Amazing! I usually take my break around one, so come my way then if you can, or if not we can do it tomorrow—”

Yuuri knows they have a wake today, but it’s not until four. His morning is a lot of paperwork---i’s Mari’s day to handle the meetings with families of the lately deceased. He can skip out with little issue. “Okay. I’ll be there between one and a quarter after.”

Victor grins. “Perfect.” Yuuri grabs his tray, Victor his cup, and they part ways. Yuuri drives to the Yu-Topia Funeral Home as Flo’s "No Light, No Light" sounds through the driver’s cabin, and he feels happy for the first time in a while.

Maybe Phichit is right, and Victor’s different.


	3. Octopus Poke Bowls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the staff at Living Legend Enterprises. And Victor and Yuuri get lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor's employees are a bunch of reprobates, sorry not sorry. I mean...they're Chris and the young Russian Skate Fam so I don't know why you'd expect otherwise. 
> 
> The Ramen Bar is a legit restaurant in the FiDi of SF. Their menu looks so good. I want that Boozy Boba *clenches fist* like burning.
> 
> Makkachin will be actually around soon. I promise. He is okay and great!
> 
> Hey who else misses when Shiny Toy Guns was so good? This gal.

Victor glides into his office thirteen minutes late---Wayfarers on, velvet lapels billowing, and “Friday I’m In Love” sung in his surprisingly good voice.

“It’s Wednesday,” calls the bitter and world-weary child intern Yuri Plisetsky from their front desk. “Also I’m revoking your Goth card.”

“The Cure is technically Goth,” calls his CFO, Chris Giacometti. Chris has a blond undercut and leans more towards jewel tones as he’s _firmly a winter_. Instead of taking the path of least resistance, Victor bought a full vintage espresso and coffee machine for their merry band. Chris is in the process of making himself and Georgi Americanos. “Though maybe not that specific song.”

Victor smiles at him as he opens the door to his office. The whole space is industrial and minimalist with exposed brick and dim lighting, save for the decor choices—velvet sofas with sleek lines and an aubergine chandelier commissioned by a hipster artist Victor saw on display in SoHo, paintings like something out of a del Toro film or Goya exhibit, one particular photograph of Dita von Teese backstage when she hadn't married Manson yet--- 

Yuri wore an understated charcoal suit with a blue shirt when he interviewed, and had he not Victor wouldn’t have hired him because the lemon-yellow leopard print he insists on being his daily outerwear upends the curated aesthetic.

Georgi matches or clashes depending on how well his partnership with ladylove Anya is going. When they’re well, he’s more in bright colors and playing Halsey remixes. When they have strife, he’s in murky grays and Lana del Rey repeats on the office phonograph. Right now there’s murmurings of Anya wanting to explore relationship anarchy as opposed to their current monogamy, so he’s kind of somewhere in between. He accents gray jackets with pops or red or purple, and his primary music choice is Ellie Goulding.

Victor realized he was possibly getting old when he fell into a google and r/relationships hole for two hours to make heads or tails of “relationship anarchy” before he gave up and contemplated suggesting Georgi put Anya on a break. Call him old fashioned, but being an Elder Goth with a lifelong partner and their herd of fabulous poodles sounds vastly preferable.

The lifelong partner in this fantasy is now represented by a stunningly beautiful man gifted with coal-black hair, glasses, and warm eyes the color of a fine piece of cherry wood furniture. He loses himself in the memory of Yuuri's gentle smile. He's so soft, so pure. Victor can't think of anything else.

Victor wakes up his iMac and blares baroque-styled New Wave love songs by long-gone cult artists.

“Oh my God,” cries Mila as she comes into the room in all her lipstick-lesbian glory. She’s the rare redhead that works the hell out of pink, choosing to do so today in a blush dress she got from a local designer and a pair of gold heels. “What did you do? Who is he?”

“His name is Yuuri,” Victor says with a grin. “He wears mostly black, drives a hearse, and likes Dragon Frappucinos.” His eyes twinkle at her. “Annnnd he’s meeting me for lunnnnchhhhhh. Pookkeeeee bowlllllssss!”

Mila laughs and grins. “Sounds like you should be playing ‘At Last’ instead of…” she trails off as she walks around the desk to look at his Spotify. He also has to look, as it's been a while since he's heard this song in particular. “’You Are the One’ by Shiny Toy Guns.”

“I contain multitudes,” Victor huffs. “And he is perfect. I want six.”

“Six what?” Mila asks as she unlocks the company iPhone.

Victor gives her a blank look. “Six…Yuuris? One for each work day, and then one to spoil all weekend? Duh.”

Mila sighs and laughs at once. “God. Young love.”

Victor pouts as she exits his office with a chirp of congratulations.

He wants to Postmates bagels and cream cheese or maybe fancy doughnuts from Bob's because he’s in such high spirits. It's foiled when Chris knocks on his open door. “Got a few?” he asks. He’s wearing his glasses today, round metal frames akin to John Lennon that are both chic and outdated, a warm emerald shirt showing off his wushu-and-pilates-toned chest, and a pair of dark jeans. 

It’s fairly casual at Living Legend Enterprises. Victor is only so formally attired because of the chance to see Yuuri again. Generally he lets them wear whatever; he doesn’t care as long as they aren’t unwashed or overly sloppy. 

Yuri mentioned possibly dying funky streaks in his hair, and Victor cheerfully said for him to go for it. He only cares if it’s ugly. Then he'll pay to have the kid's natural towhead restored to its glory.

“Yes, Chris,” Victor says. He lowers the volume of his music.

“Well,” Chris says. “I’m reviewing our budget, end of the fiscal year thing. And…I think it’s okay to bring another full timer on board. That deal with the wineries in Napa is gonna help us out for a long time, and we can handle the overhead without much risk.”

Victor smiles. “Amazing! Get with Mila for the ad.”

“Of course,” Chris replies. He winks, his glasses making it cute but also roguish. “We’ll run the finer points by you for qualifications.”

“Since they’re a second Georgi, just follow his,” Victor says. “It’s neater.”

“Makes sense,” Chris says with a nod.

“Let me know when we have viable applicants, so the three of us can kvetch over who to interview,” Victor says. “No LinkedIns without photos. I mean it.”

Chris gives him a saucy wink as he exits.

Victor gets approximately 100% jack shit accomplished between then and his usual lunch hour. He’s too busy mooning over Yuuri’s beautiful face, his slighty soft round cheeks, the flecks of amber in his eyes, the careful messiness of his hair. He’s so perfect. Victor can’t wait for lunch.

At 1:09 Yuri barges in unannounced. “Ugh, there’s some square here in a suit with my name, says he’s picking you up for some kind of dorky bs.”

“It’s lunch, Yuri,” Victor says as he rockets out of his seat. He fixes himself in the full length black framed mirror he keeps on the south wall. Ah yes. 14/10 would date, heckin’ handsome, amazing.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbles. “The guy is a pocket protector and a math book short of being shaken down for lunch money.”

“Does that still happen?” Victor wonders. It's been...well. How many years since his childhood isn't important.

“Nah, it’s a lot worse and meaner, too,” Yuri responds. “Regardless, that geek you ordered from Amazon Now has arrived.”

Victor rolls his eyes. When he enters the lounge, he sees Yuuri perched on the midnight blue velvet chaise thumbing through Nylon on one of their iPads. His suit jacket rests over the arm, and his dress shirt’s sleeves are rolled up twice. His forearms are nicely toned. His light blue tie is horrendous. 

“Hiii,” Victor coos.

Yuuri looks up and adjusts his glasses. He’s cute, rosy cheeked with a bashful smile. “Hi, Victor. Ready?”

“Born ready,” Victor says. 

Yuuri flushes deeper and clears his throat. “Walk or drive?”

Victor spots that Yuuri managed to get rock star parking, but even if he hadn't the cafe is only a half a block away. “Walk,” he says though he longs to ride in that fabulous hearse. He resists for now---it’s not fair for Yuuri to lose prime parking real estate, and it's silly to drive such a short distance. It's not like they live in Los Angeles.

Victor takes Yuuri's jacket and hangs it in their black, artfully distressed wardrobe. It's chicer than a closet. He reaches out and takes Yuuri’s hand in his. “Come with me,” he says with a bright smile.

Yuuri hesitates but lets Victor escort him down the sidewalk to The Ramen Bar. It’s crowded but not so much they can’t manage the wait, and when they get a table Victor orders a Boozy Boba for himself. Yuuri gets a Lychee Oolong tea with rosewater jelly. 

“Do you not drink?” Victor asks. He’s curious, not picking.

“Not during the work day,” Yuuri replies as he sips his tea. He swirls the straw around clockwise five times, the pink jelly bobbing around the liquid like the movements of a kaleidoscope. “I don’t want to risk forfeiture or suspension of my license.”

“License,” Victor muses. His index finger touches his lips. “Sales? Insurance? Cosmetology?”

Yuuri bites his lip, and Victor wants to do the same, tug on the plush pink skin with his teeth while he wrecks Yuuri’s hair and shirt collar. He refrains, and in fact grows concerned when he sees that the primary emotion Yuuri displays is fear. “Um, well…my family runs a funeral home. It’s been ours since my grandparents immigrated here. My father owns it now that they’ve passed, and my sister and I will be the joint owners when he retires with our mom in ten years.”

Oh. 

Wow. 

Victor’s more in love than he has been his entire life ignoring the first moment NorCal Poodle Rescue introduced him to a puffy brown puppy now named Makkachin. Makka gets his ears dyed pink or purple every time Victor has him groomed. The puffy part of his tail, too. “That’s so amazing!” Victor exclaims. “What a cool line of work. I’m so intrigued.”

Yuuri stares at Victor as if he’s never been told anything like that in his life. Actually, it’s more like he’s staring as if Victor just informed him he’s suffering from upside-down-face disorder. “Really?” Yuuri squeaks.

They order their food—Victor gets the poke trio bowl, Yuuri a bowl that's solely octopus. It’s far too warm for ramen or anything heavy to eat. “Yes! I’ve always found funerals calming. There’s something soothing about them, especially the religious ones. Like Catholic funerals with all the Latin rites. I don’t know; I don’t want people to die—” Victor is careful to clarify. “But the actual ritual of grief and letting go…I find it quite lovely.”

Yuuri keeps staring, eyes wide and bright like a startled cat. He cracks the knuckles on his index fingers. Yuuri fidgets a lot, Victor notes. He also looks at Victor when he thinks he won’t realize and turns his eyes away when he’s caught. It’s cute, like he’s a schoolboy with his first crush. 

At least, Victor hopes anyhow.

Victor rests his chin on his right hand. He unabashedly stares at Yuuri, his eyes focused on him intently to catch every movement. Yuuri avoids his gaze as he licks his lips, his cheeks staining like someone brushed a wash of red watercolors over his skin like a painting. He runs his hand through his hair though it falls back how it was, and he swallows as he meets Victor’s eyes.

Their food arrives and before Victor can end the silence, Yuuri breaks apart his chopsticks and digs in. He’s elegant and careful when he eats, Victor notes...it's almost meticulous, but then his occupation requires attention to a lot of fine detail. Why should his eating habits be different? 

Victor can’t help but wonder if his attention to the finer points extends to sex. He really wants to know, he thinks as he breaks apart his own chopsticks and selects a piece of tuna for his first bite. He's almost shocked by how badly he wants to know how detailed Yuuri likes to be and if that blush goes further than his cheeks. He wants to know how he sounds. He wants to know so much.

Yuuri washes down his food with a sip of the tea. “Um—” he starts. “Well. No one’s ever...people tend to not care for my work.”

“Narrow-minded simpletons,” Victor responds without looking up. He can feel Yuuri’s eyes on the slope of his cheekbones as he combs through his bowl for the next perfect morsel.

“And…you’re right,” Yuuri says. “Funerals are supposed to reassure the ones left behind. They’re supposed to enable you to say goodbye, let go, and move on. Sometimes when someone comes to us, like a wife grieving her husband of fifty years or parents laying to rest their small child, they have a really hard time. They can’t make choices or even fully grasp the situation most of the time. It’s my job to help them make sense of things, process the way the loved one would wish to say goodbye, and voice their love for the last time.”

Victor looks at him. “That’s beautiful,” he replies, his heart full and his voice awestruck.

Yuuri smiles, though his lips are closed. It’s sweet without being sickening, and Victor favors him with an expression that amounts to a heart eyes emoji. They finish their food, and with a refill in a to-go cup for Yuuri and a new non-boozy drink for Victor, he pays their bill. They stroll back to the office, though halfway there, Victor reaches down and entwines their fingers.

Yuuri chokes on his drink, stumbles, and almost takes them both down hard on the pavement. Victor manages to save the day as he tugs him back, but Yuuri lands half clutching Victor’s blazer without dropping his drink. He blinks up at him, and Victor’s blue eyes widen a bit in awe as they stare at each other. 

Yuuri blushes again, and Victor can’t stop, won’t stop, as he kisses him just a centimeter away from his lips. Yuuri gasps. “Oh.”

Victor pulls away. “Please,” he says. “May I have dinner with you soon? Somewhere with intimate candlelight and quiet tables?”

“Yes!” Yuuri blurts. He coughs. “Um. Yes.”

Victor is pleased. Victor is so pleased that right outside his office he pulls Yuuri close a second time and after setting his drink on the ledge to wrap his hands in his hair, he kisses him for at least ten minutes by his estimation. Yuuri kisses back with equal amounts of affection, his free hand clinging tight to Victor’s biceps like he thinks he’ll become a bat and fly away.

Victor loves bats. They're second only to poodles.

What Victor does not love is his entire staff cat-calling them and pounding on the glass of the front window. He actually didn’t even know Mila’s voice could pitch that high, and of particular note in terms of obnoxiousness is Georgi blaring “Young and Beautiful” from Yuri’s MacBook Pro speakers.

Yuuri breaks the kiss and hides as best he can behind the recycling bin a few feet away. Victor glares at his staff, sending them scurrying away like roaches, and he pulls Yuuri out of the ineffective hiding place to walk him inside. They retrieve his blazer, and Victor assists him with Yuuri holding out his arms after a moment’s confusion. Victor may or may not get a bit frisky with his (strong, corpse-lifting) shoulders as he slides the wool onto his body.

Yuuri faces him, and he hands Victor a white business card with an austere typeset. “Here.”

It’s his card with his information, like Victor gave him yesterday at Starbucks.

Yuuri runs his hand through his hair. “Um…call me. Whenever. So we can set up dinner.”

He bites his bottom lip and exits, though when he pushes the door open he turns, opens his mouth, and closes it. Victor watches him go to the point where he sees the hearse disappear into the rest of the FiDi.

He looks at the card: Yu-Topia Funeral Home, Katsuki Yuuri. Licensed Mortician and Funeral Director. Phone number, work email.

Victor smiles so hard his face hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say Hi on[ twitter](http://twitter.com/sink_or_swim) or [Tumblr](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)!


	4. A Pint of Secret Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day at the Yu-Topia Funeral Home, and a phone call from Yuuri's new boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUESS WHAT. SEXY THINGS ARE HAPPENING NOW.
> 
> One of the things Yuuri says is the filthiest thing I've written. If you've read Taker, take that seriously. 
> 
> Some Mari, and some Toshiya. Some of Yuuri's actual job. More Vicchan. Yuuri's trash eating habits when left alone. Phone sex. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
>   
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/39393084195/in/dateposted-public/)

Yesterday's lunch date, complete with the surprising but definitely welcome extended smooching, resulted in Yuuri showing up to Yu-Topia in a blindly euphoric state. Mari had to elbow him three times during the MacPhersons' wake with a dirty look because the lovesick smile he wore was out of place to say the least.

If Mari had a middle name Yuuri would have changed it to Buzzkill when they were kids, no question. Mari would have likely retaliated in kind with something like Katsuki "Likes Dogs Hates People" Yuuri. 

Which is fair---he's self aware enough to realize this.

Dogs don't tell the boy you _like_ -like that you smell like dead people for one example, but he tries to forget that garbage seventh grade lunch ever happened. He ate outside for the rest of the year with his best friend Yuuko and her boyfriend since kindergarten Takeshi. They're married with the most precocious triplets ever, and Yuuri doesn't know how Yuuko isn't driven to drink. 

Then again, her last birthday party was on the Napa wine train so anything is possible.

He needs to call them. It's been more than a couple of weeks since they saw each other---he should try to find the time to have dinner at their house or something.

Yuuri puts the finishing touches on the middle-aged _abuela_ 's make up. She's too young he feels, and he knows her family agrees, but Basil cell carcinomas are aggressive if not caught early. It's a shame; her eldest granddaughter's _Quinceanera_ is in a month her son told them. That'll be very bittersweet. 

Mari sweeps into the room in her usual (begrudging) Ann Taylor sweater set and slacks, the myriad piercings in her ears along with the bleached hair clashing with the conservative nature of her clothing. He knows she loathes it, but their mom is very clear with what they're allowed to wear as far as work goes. Mari tends to mumble under her breath in the French she minored in so she doesn't bicker further with their mother.

Mari's still sipping that morning's Pike Place which has to be revolting. She bends over and looks at the cosmetic job. "Hm," she says. "Your hands are always so much steadier than mine. It's annoying."

"Thanks," Yuuri says as he ignores the latter part. "You're better at comforting the people, you know."

"Oh I know," Mari says with a sip. Her eyes focus on him like a beacon. "So. You seem almost cheerful. What's up?"

"Why does something have to be up?" Yuuri asks as he washes his hands to get the foundation off them. 

Mari snorts. "Sure, Jan."

Yuuri leans his head back and cracks his neck. "Stop meme-ing me."

"Never," Mari replies with a laugh. "Something happened when you disappeared yesterday. Spill."

He sort of doesn't want to. Actually, he really doesn't. Victor is new---precious, delicate, sparkling, and tenuous in a way that makes Yuuri want to stay silent and keep him like a hidden treasure. He's never had someone's interest longer than the "what I do" convo, and it's so novel and special he dare not risk jinxing it. It's why for the last year and a half he's stuck to occasional one night stands when the frustration peaked so high that focusing on work and dance classes wasn't enough of a distraction.

Phichit will get the hose if he mutters "repression and sublimation" in between fake coughs _one more freaking time_.

Yuuri shrugs. "It's just a nice afternoon respite, that's all. Had a really good octopus poke bowl and some boba in FiDi. No big deal."

Mari sips her coffee. Yuuri can't even fathom how gross it must be. Sure iced coffee exists, but this isn't refreshing and cold---this is like some room temperature potion from the land that time forgot. How? Why? Mari needs to love herself, he concludes. "Nope, you don't get to do that. You had the same smile on your face from that time you had that boy over when you 'watched a movie together'."

"I'm so uncomfortable with our relationship now," Yuuri says. He is. His sister shouldn't know these things, let alone speak of them out loud. He doesn't make the rules.

"You didn't have the volume up high enough, just saying," Mari breezes by him to check on a death certificate. "I mean, I guess you could have found religion together---"

The sound Yuuri emits is reminiscent of an angry, put upon dolphin besieged by a very hungry orca. The look in his eyes promises only death. Mari remains unmoved. She is saved by the arrival of their dad, sharply dressed and jovial as ever. "What are you two up to?" he asks as he moves past them to a supply closet. 

"Just catching up," Mari assures him with a cheery smile."Brother-sister bonding."

Dad makes a noncommittal sound as he finds what he needs. He exits the closet holding a stack of his business cards---his holder at their front desk must be low. "Always nice when you two get along," he tells them with a grin. Then he heads back upstairs without looking back. 

Yuuri immediately resumes looking at Mari with a Murder Face.

Mari smiles and tosses her cup into the trash. "Whoever he is," she says in a sing-song. "He better be good to you." As she leaves, she pats him on the head, causing him to swat her hand away. Yuuri grumbles a bit as he checks the lady's face again. He did a good job he feels, giving her a similar look to the day-to-day examples her family gave him from their phone camera rolls.

Checking the clock on the wall, he realizes they're due in any moment for their appraisal. He puts his sleeves back in order, replaces his tie around his neck, and puts back on his jacket. The front bell rings, and Yuuri takes the stairs two at a time to see his mother greeting the poor family. 

This part never gets easier. He grew up with this as his daily routine, and it never gets easier.

The Perez-Paparillas file in together in various states of distress. The wife does better than the husband, but she was his mother so that's fairly typical. They cluster together, he shows them the make up in her casket, and they give the thumbs up. Since they're Catholic the service will be a mass at their church, but she was very well-loved within the community so they're finagling a viewing in spite of the more typical closed-casket formal rites. A few minutes later their priest arrives, and Yuuri's parents sit with him and the Perez-Paparillas to finalize music selections and which scripture to use for the readings.

Yuuri's job is done here so he politely excuses himself to finalize some forms. He sits at his desk which is covered in memorabilia of Vicchan as well as photos of him with Phichit or the Nishigoris, does his work, and is horrified when he looks up to realize it's going on 7:45.

Yuuri dry swallows two Advil from a bottle in his desk drawer as he feels the opening salvo of a headache. There's no viewings or funerals tonight so he's free to leave whenever. He carries his suit jacket over one arm and sends a quick text to Phichit. _Not in the mood to cook tonight, what should I order?_

Phichit texts back a minute later. _Whatever you want, I'm going out. I've got my first trapeze class and drinks with a friend after, so I'll just grab food at Tonga Room._

Oh right. Yuuri forgot---Phichit mentioned it over breakfast. _Sure, sure. See you probably tomorrow morning._

_See you!_

Well, Yuuri can get whatever he wants for dinner, and if he was a lesser person a giant tub of Secret Breakfast from Humphrey Slocombe would be his choice. 

Actually...yeah, he's gonna live his truth tonight.

He heads to the ice cream shop and has a pint of the bourbon-and-cornflakes-speciality packed. He hits up In N Out to get some light-well Animal Style fries. He pops by Almanac for the Cherry Vanilla craft brew he loves, and then he's home and opening a still-chilled bottle as he watches Vicchan stretch his legs for a half an hour in the backyard. 

When Vicchan moseys to the backdoor fully aware it's his dinner time, Yuuri lets him in and feeds him his carefully-formulated duck and sweet potato kibble with a big fresh bowl of water and ice cubes. Yuuri trudges upstairs sipping his beer while he undoes his tie and unbuttons the dress shirt. The white Oxford goes into a pile for dry cleaning along with the suit pants, and he pulls on a Detroit Red Wings tee that's got off-colored bleach spots, not bothering with real pants to wander his home in just his boxer briefs. 

He half-considers a second shower, but then decides he doesn't care. 

He sits in their living room with the giant television and scrolls through their Netflix account for something to half-watch while he eats. Vicchan cuddles next to him on the sofa, big brown eyes ever hopeful about the people food. Yuuri debates the finer points of the Mulaney special with the "What's New Pussycat?" bit that never gets old when he hears his phone ring. 

He assumes it's his mother. Turns out it's a number he doesn't recognize though it's a local area code. Curious. "Hello?"

"Yuuri?" says a familiar and perky voice. "This is Victor! Hiiiii!"

The mundanity of his day just disappeared. Yuuri smiles as he brushes a lock of hair off his forehead. "Hi, Victor," he says with affection.

"It's not a bad time, is it?" Victor asks.

"No, of course not," Yuuri says. He spoons a bite of the ice cream into his mouth. Vicchan whines. "No, buddy, this is bourbon. Dogs can't have booze."

"Dog?" Victor, amazingly, perks up even more. "You have a dog?"

"Yeah," Yuuri says. "His name's Vicchan...he's a toy poodle, and he's been my best friend for a decade almost."

Victor gasps. Then a moment later Yuuri's iPhone sounds a text alert. "Check your messages!"

Yuuri furrows his brows but looks---it's a photo of an elegant gray-brown standard poodle whose ears and puffball tail were dyed a royal violet. "Oh wow!"

"He's Makkachin," Victor proclaims like a proud dad. "He's my best friend of a decade too! We go everywhere together, including my office some days! He's my favorite---I love him!"

"Awww," Yuuri says. He can tell---he doesn't know Victor well, not yet, but the love in his voice is almost visible. He then goes to the message window and after a pause to add Victor as a contact, he sends him his favorite picture of Vicchan from Halloween two years ago. He's dressed like one of the Game of Thrones dragons in a metallic red and black outfit complete with tiny poodle-sized wings. Yuuri hits send. "Check your texts."

Yuuri can tell when Victor gets the photo because the sound he makes would shatter glass. "Oh my God! I must meet him! I cannot survive without at least giving this precious being a hug!"

Before he can try to act cool, Yuuri does something that's a mixture between a giggle and his actual laugh. He claps his hand over his mouth, but it still bubbles out whether he wants it to or not. "We'll see."

He can hear Victor shifting and moving around on his end of the line. There's a sound of dog whimpering and then Victor opens some kind of sealed container. "Only two, I don't want you getting fat," he says. Who Yuuri guesses must be Makkachin makes appeased noises that are loud enough his phone picks up on them. "Anyways, Yuuri! The reason for my call---are you free tomorrow night?"

In theory, yes, but... "Um, well," Yuuri begins. "Saturday would be better?"

"Saturday is perfect!" Victor cheers. He doesn't press for information about why. "I would like to have that dinner with you! Around...seven? I figure we can meet at my place, maybe have a drink first, and then take our time eating and enjoy ourselves?"

Yuuri doesn't do the mental calculations on how long it's been since he's gone on a real date. It'll harsh his mellow. "I'd like that," he says with his innate shyness coming to the forefront. 

"Fantastic," Victor says, and Yuuri can picture the bright, perfect smile on his face as well as the way his eyes light up. "Do you have a preference on where to go? Don't worry about price or anything---the sky's the limit!"

"Um, well," Yuuri has a place he loves that his family takes him for his birthday every year. It'd be nice to go for an occasion other than November 29th. "I really like Seven Hills, if that's okay."

There's a weird stretch of silence. "Okay. I should have mentioned this," Victor begins. "But...I can't do Italian restaurants. I have a pretty severe garlic allergy."

Yuuri freezes with some fries halfway to his mouth. "That's a thing? People can be allergic to garlic?"

"Yeah," Victor laughs, though it's self-deprecating. "It's definitely a thing. I carry epi-pens most days. You should hear how my coworkers make fun of me for it, they're always like 'carrying the whole vampire-goth thing a little far, aren't you, Victor?' and they're not wrong. It figures, given that Vlad Tepes is my favorite historical figure."

Yuuri eats the fries and swallows. "Sorry about eating in your ear," he says as his manners kick in. "Also...I agree with your coworkers. That's hilarious."

"It is most of the time," Victor concurs. "But yes, unfortunately I have to rule out certain types of cuisine since the garlic is already in the food."

"Hmmm," Yuuri says. He tries to think if there's a place he wants to go or a food he likes that doesn't rely on garlic as a seasoning. "You eat seafood...do you like red meat, or are you pescatarian?"

"Oh I love a good steak like the proper Russian boy I am," Victor says cheekily. "Alexander's work?"

Yuuri sips his beer at the wrong time because he starts choking. That's a really fancy place Victor wants to take him, but he's been told the most amazing things about it from his mother. His father surprised her on their most recent anniversary, and for a week she kept bringing up the seared wagyu. "Okay. That sounds good. Seven at your place, you said?"

"Yes, I'll text you the address when we hang up!" Victor is so bright and cheery---for a man who likes the blackest clothing and fanboys the literal Count Dracula, he's way more like a bright, clear day full of sunshine than gloom and rainclouds.

Yuuri eats more of his ice cream, washing it down with his beer. "Okay, sounds good."

"Great," Victor says. He hesitates before he asks, "Do you need to go right now? Or---"

"I'm not doing anything," Yuuri responds with his cheeks flushing a dark rose. "I definitely am not cutting you off."

"I hoped so," Victor says. "I'd like to keep talking until you need to sleep or go for any reason." He pauses. "Well, I...I haven't managed to stop thinking about you, but I was afraid of coming on too strong."

Yuuri inhales with a soft noise. "Oh," is all he can say.

"You're very sweet," Victor continues. "And I like spending time with you. I couldn't wait any longer to call so I did, and I'm glad I did."

He tries so hard not to think of all the times someone said something similar before running away. Though, he has to admit...it sounds different from Victor. It sounds _real_. "I'm glad, too. I like hearing your voice," he stammers. "I also like being with you."

Victor emits a pleased sound. "Wow!" he says. "Yuuri!"

Yuuri's finished the fries and most of the ice cream. He gets up to freeze the leftovers and wash his hands. Vicchan follows as eager as ever for falling drippings. He goes back to the living room to turn off the tv and the PS4, leaving a light on for Phichit for when he comes home, and he heads to his room with his short, fluffy buddy following behind.

Yuuri's bedroom is the master since Phichit annexed the entire second floor---he keeps it as clean as possible, but he has a lot of stuff accumulated he can't bear to put in storage or donate. An abundance of framed photographs from the varying stages of his life, trophies from his dance contests, CD racks full of albums he's already ripped to his cloud---they're all tied up with a story or a memory, and he's (to his own annoyance) sentimental. 

Though he has this amazing antique four-poster king-sized oak bed sitting between his windows that he managed to get in the sketchiest Craigslist transaction in history. 

Even Phichit looked terrified, and Phichit does not feel fear the way mere mortals do.

Victor's playing music and moving around too, and just as Yuuri thinks they should hang up he speaks. "Sorry, I saw the time and decided to get comfortable. I'm lounging around like a lump now."

"Ha, me too," Yuuri says as he flops onto the bed hard enough the mattress bounces four times. He thinks he might recognize the song, but he can't hear the lyrics well enough. "What are you listening to?"

"It's a cover of an Echo and the Bunnymen song called 'The Killing Moon'," Victor answers. "The band's Nouvelle Vague."

It's probably something he heard in a concert venue between sets, like maybe that last show at the Fox Theater? Hm. He'll figure it out. "It's nice."

"It's a longtime favorite," Victor says. "What kind of music do you like?"

"Almost everything," Yuuri says. He winces. "That's so cliche, but in my case I actually mean it. It sort of depends on the day. I like sad songs when I'm sad and upbeat when happy. Mari and I fight sometimes over the satellite radio in the basement where we spend most of our shifts."

"Who's Mari?" Victor asks.

"My older sister," Yuuri says. "She's really into boy band stuff and KPop. It's not bad, but I have to take a break from it after an hour or two or I'll go off the rails."

"Ah I see," Victor says. A song ends and the next one begins---Victor vetoes it, Yuuri hearing a few more start and abruptly stop in a row before he settles on a melody with airy, honey-sounding female vocals.

Yuuri changes his position on the bed so he's on his back, phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder as he slides a hand under the hem of his t-shirt to stroke his lower abs. He stares up at the ceiling, painted the same robin's egg blue as his walls. His room reminds him some days of a cloudless sky, and it makes him feel better when things are cruddy.

"Yuuri," Victor says. His tone is different; his words are more languid, his voice like the smoke filling an illicit, underground jazz club. "What are you thinking about right now?"

Yuuri dimly realizes the tone of their phone call's shifted as he drifts his hand lower towards the waistband of his boxer-briefs. "You," he answers as he squeezes his eyes closed and cringes. He's grateful Victor can't see his embarrassment caused by his inadvertent forwardness. Sometimes it's like his brain has no understanding of how words should work.

"Hm," Victor replies. "May I speak plainly?"

"Mmmm," Yuuri replies. His eyes close.

"I don't just think you're sweet," Victor says. "I also think you're incredibly sexy."

Yuuri feels his face heat like he's under a furnace. He worries his bottom lip with his upper front teeth. "Oh," he manages.

"I'm thinking about you, too," Victor continues. His voice caresses Yuuri through the phone like a strip of brushed silk. "I'm imagining you here, next to me."

It's not just Yuuri's face heating up, not any more. His hand wants to dip still lower to the hardening length between his legs, but he refrains. "Yeah?" he asks, forcing down the nerves thanks to both the couple beers he's had and the fact that it's been eight months since anyone else has touched him. Technically Victor isn't touching him now, but he clearly wants to between the timbre of his voice and the ardor of the previous day's kisses. 

Yuuri wonders if maybe he should slow things between them because he _likes_ Victor---but it's been _so long_. "What am I doing?" Yuuri forges ahead, forgetting to feel anxious or shy or to let his brain give his normal excuses. "Am I touching you?"

Victor's breath gets heavier and shallower at once. Yuuri's heartbeat reverberates in his ears. "Yes," Victor says. "Raking your nails down my chest, pressed close between my legs."

A soft noise, barely qualifying as a moan, passes through Yuuri's parted lips. "Mhm. My hands are going lower. They're stroking your thighs."

Victor softly groans his name, and Yuuri hears some fabric shift. Only then does he pull the waistband of his underwear down, and his cock is hard to an extent he wouldn't imagine just from the overture of phone sex. Though, Victor is supernaturally gorgeous---Yuuri would be inclined to take the vampire jokes seriously had he not met him during the daytime. His mind fills in a gap, Victor under him on his back with Yuuri hovering above like he stares at a fallen angel, his silver hair fanned on his bed, his skin tinted the shade of the red camellias his mother grows in the landscaping at Yu-Topia. 

"Yuuuurriiiii," Victor croons and begs in equal measure. "Touch me."

"Where?" Yuuri says as he takes himself in hand, his blood pulsing in the long vein on the underside of his shaft. He holds himself---not stroking, not yet. "Tell me."

Victor whimpers, and the carnal need in it goes right to Yuuri's cock. His brain feels that familiar and pleasing fogginess of sexual want, and he bites back his own sounds as he his hand softly rises up then slides down his shaft. He's achingly aroused now, partially because he's visualizing Victor in a similar state and partially because he aches for their real date, he aches for actual hands on his body not his own. "I want your lips on my throat, I want you biting all over my skin, marking me. I want your mouth on me, sucking me, wringing me dry---"

Yuuri permits his moaning to escape---free, clear, and loud. "God, _yes_ ," he says. He licks his hand four times and sets to work. Like every good queer Bay Area Boy he keeps a stash of lube in his bedside table, but it's too far away this time. His desire's stoked too high too quickly, his necessary satisfaction far too urgent. 

"You like that, Yuuri?" Victor asks, his breaths heavy like he ran a marathon. "You like giving head? You like being on your knees for your partners?"

"Yeah, it's a favorite," Yuuri manages. He can hear the slick sounds of Victor jacking himself, and Yuuri pushes his hips up to meet his own fist. "I love it."

Victor's response is a noise that can't be called anything but sinful. "Tell me more," he requests with a bitten off whine.

Yuuri's hand doesn't pause, his hips neither, but his words do. He has to think for a second about how far to take things since it's essentially their first time. "I'd want you to fuck my face," he whispers.

Victor makes a louder, sexier, needier noise. "Yuurriiiiii----"

"I want to choke on your cock while my spit soaks my chin," Yuuri says. He should be humiliated or maybe crying while he jerks it or both, but instead it feels---good. Victor somehow makes it easy even though they haven't even known each other a full week. "But most of all, I'd want to suck you after you fuck me. I want to taste the latex and come on your cock while I suck you off tied to your headboard---"

Victor shouts his name, and Yuuri groans as the phone slides out of reach while Victor's obvious orgasm sets him off as well. He spurts thick, pearlescent stripes of come on his shirt and stomach, some of it dripping down his fingers, and he lies sprawled and sweaty, his chest heaving with the exertion of his release.

That's the easily best one he's had in ages, possibly even more than the last time he had fun with a live person.

No offense to that guy, but them's the breaks.

The body bliss begins its slow fade, and Yuuri realizes he's a mess. He also realizes the phone fell around his armpit and Victor is still on the line. He wipes his hand on his shirt since it's not like he can make it worse, and he picks the phone back up. As he puts it by his ear, he clears his throat. "You there?"

"I died, actually," Victor replies with a winded laugh. "I'm speaking to you from the great beyond, but oh, what a perfect way to have gone out."

"Well if you tell someone to send you to my work, I'll make sure you're pretty for your mourners," Yuuri teases, mildly worried and unnerved he's using his job as a means of flirting.

Victor laughs---it's warm and robust like a perfectly-steeped cup of lapsang souchong. "You're so good to me, Yuuri. Whatever did I do before you?"

 _Be alone. Think you'll always be alone because no one's worth the risk_ , Yuuri almost says. "No idea," he chooses instead.

"Well," Victor says. "For _some reason_ I need a bath, so I had better sign off here." He sighs, but it's pleased. "Yuuri...may I text you? Not just with my address, but...to talk? Is that okay?"

Yuuri smiles, and his cheeks again turn a shade of pink normally found during the rites of spring. His shyness takes over, the boldness he felt during their prior erotic convo gone back into the compartment he keeps it hidden. "Yes," he says. "Please do."

"Okay!" Victor says. "Well, I better see about that bath. I'll talk to you soon, Yuuri. And I'll see you Saturday...I can't wait, really."

"Good night, Victor," Yuuri says in a hush. He disconnects the call and grimaces when he realizes how awful his current wardrobe situation is. Vicchan, who was on his fancy memory foam pet bed, has determined that Yuuri can now be bothered and so after two failed attempts he climbs onto his human's bed. 

Phichit doesn't come up to Yuuri's domain unless he absolutely must or his audience has been requested. Yuuri decides to sleep naked for once, and after checking his duvet for any come mishaps, he gets under his sheets, puts his glasses on his night table, and hugs his poodle to his bare chest. Vicchan is fine with this arrangement, his soft eyes and tender smile aimed in Yuuri's direction.

Yuuri strokes his dog's curls. He shuts his eyes, a vision of clear blue ones and silver hair filling his imagination, and he dreams of a a future wine picnic date in the botanical gardens. When his alarm goes off, his one hindrance at getting up for work is that he wishes to stay lost in a vision of sunshine on his face as he and Victor chat and cuddle on a blanket.


	5. A Study of Beef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *snickering at the chapter title* PS I am five.
> 
> Alexander's is a very fancy steakhouse in SF, and the food Victor orders is a tasting menu called a Study of Beef. It looks incredible, to be honest. *grabby hands*
> 
> Victor's penthouse is real, but his building isn't quite per se. Just...don't think about the pricetag. Just don't.
> 
> Yes, you can actually get permanent fangs put in, and yes they do cost about four grand. Microblading is sort of like...a permanent cosmetic procedure that fills in your brows. But it's not exactly like getting them tattooed on. There is a healing process though that takes multiple weeks.
> 
> You uh...might want to pay extra attention to Chris's phone call. *cough*
> 
> I think that's everything, here you go!
> 
>   
>  [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/domminess/39393084825/in/dateposted-public/)

Friday dragged. It dragged like the last Scorsese film Chris Ludivigoed him into watching, Victor thinks as his alarm goes off nine am sharp on Saturday.

They met freshman year at Wharton, so they’re both long immune to each other’s drama and wheedling. Still, Victor thinks as he removes his eggplant purple silk velvet sleep mask to greet the day, Chris needs to get less pretentious taste in entertainment.

His bed is large with a white lacquered headboard to contrast with the off-black bedroom walls. The east wall is floor-to-ceiling windows with a killer view. His place has its own private terrace—the whole unit has tons of space, and he converted the third bedroom into a makeshift wine cellar when he bought it, as when his Dedushka passed he inherited part of his collection. 

Victor sits up, stretching, and on the bed next to him a brown lump with vivid purple ears and tail rolls around to face him. The dog’s brown eyes are bright and loving as he smiles. “Good morning, Makka,” Victor croons as he strokes behind his ears and under his chin. Then he kisses the side of his snout before jumping out of the bed. Makkachin follows with a wagging tail, knowing a walk and breakfast are around the corner.

Victor pulls on a pair of black lounge pants that have faded a bit from wear and laundry as well as a gray v-neck t-shirt and a skull-print hoodie. He clips on Makka’s leash to his fancy, purple collar, and they walk several blocks for Makka to do his business. It’s foggy like usual, and Victor checks his Twitter timeline while Makkachin pauses their stroll to investigate a hydrant. 

He needs to ask Yuuri for his as he sees photos from Chris’s first trapeze class Thursday night. There’s one of him doing a split in the air between two pieces of silk, then there’s another pic of a fellow student—his pose obscures his face a bit, but he has gray eyes and dark hair, his torso covered by a green tank top with Thai writing. The caption says something about a new friend with a kiss emoji, which almost certainly means Chris is going to hit on him.

No surprise there, really. 

They return to the flat, and Makka waits while Victor fills his steel dish with filtered water and ice cubes. Victor decides since it’s a weekend and he has the time to spoil himself with a caviar and sour cream omelette. He keeps the ingredients on hand, and he makes it from memory after giving Makkachin a heaping bowl of the homemade dog food Victor cooks for him every Sunday.

He’s halfway through his breakfast, Makkachin begging with visible drool by his chair, when he freezes like he’s looking down the barrel of a gun. “Oh no,” he says forlornly. 

He picks up his iPhone, calling Chris. _You’re lucky I love you,_ is how he’s greeted. _You know my rule about calls before eleven on the weekend._

“I am having a crisis and may die,” Victor responds.

Chris immediately becomes serious. _Oh God, Vitya—tell me._

Victor sprints from the dining table to his walk in closet. He gives a cursory glance through the patterns, colors, and textures. “Chris. Christophe. I have my big date tonight. And _nothing to wear_.”

There is a three minute pause.

_Seriously?_

“Yes!” Victor throws shirts all over the floor like he’s turned into Daisy Buchanan, only with less racism and vehicular manslaughter. “I need your aid! Now!”

Chris sighs. _Victor Mikaelovich Nikiforov. We just went shopping. Wear the McQueen that surely still has its tags attached and a pair of jeans. The Rag and Bone boots that look incredible and are also comfortable. Consider changing the nail color to something more fun._

Victor happens to be holding the shirt in question—it’s ivory silk with an all-over black peacock feather print. Victor smooths out where he’s gripped the sleeve before grabbing a pair of Helmut Lang jeans in black that are pre-destroyed with matching patches. The boots are on his custom shoe rack that looks more like a bookshelf. “You. You are the best, the brightest—“

 _I know, I know_ , Chris says with a sigh. 

“They will sing songs of your loyalty and purity centuries from now!” Victor assesses his nails—Chris is right, this color won’t do. Victor grabs the peacock blue Louboutin nail lacquer, contemplating the salon in the lower floors of his building. “Thank you, my beloved.”

 _You’re welcome, baby,_ Chris replies. _Long lunch on Monday. We’ll catch up about our personal lives—I’m having a bit of a not-date with a pretty creature I met at trapeze tomorrow. And I will devoutly pray I hear nothing from you while you’re with—what was his name? I don’t think you mentioned it._

“Yuuri,” Victor answers. “Katsuki Yuuri.”

 _Yuuri_ , Chris replies, his tone a bit thoughtful. _I couldn’t see him, you were in the way—_

“He’s so beautiful, Chris, with the softest black hair and the warmest brown eyes,” Victor expounds. “He’s sweet and cute and shy—but he’s also…surprisingly hot.” Victor clears his throat with a flush on his cheeks at the memory of their phone call two nights ago.

 _Ah,_ Chris replies. _I know the type. Well—enjoy yourselves tonight! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do._

He hangs up, and Victor slides the phone into his pocket. He resumes his (now cold) breakfast, Makkachin once again hopeful he will receive scraps. Victor’s heart is cold and unmoved, but he does give his baby a pig ear after his breakfast as a treat.

Victor showers, blows out his hair, and changes into a pair of cropped black pants and a tee since he’s just going downstairs. He enters the salon and gets an oxygen facial and a paraffin mani-pedi. 

Sabina, his favorite esthetician, looks over his eyebrows while working her magic. “Did you get the microblading done?”

Victor grins. “Yes!” He hands her the card. “No more filling them in with the Dipbrow. I’m a changed man for the better!”

“They’re amazing,” she says after a thorough inspection. “That settles it. I’m getting mine done ASAP.”

Victor applauds with joy. He then pays, being sure to tip generously. He heads back to his flat, grabbing the pitcher of water he infuses with basil and strawberries, and sits with Makkachin under his umbrella reading on his Kindle. Journals and business magazines mostly, though his profile is coming out soon in Fortune as One to Watch in Tech. 

He hated the photoshoot. They put him in a double-breasted navy suit. _Navy_.

Time marches on and he stomach fills with more and giddier butterflies, so he drops the pretense, eats the leftovers from when he ordered Tacolicious the other night, walks Makkachin again, and then gets ready. Yuuri will arrive around six, their reservation at Alexander’s is for seven-thirty, and from there whatever happens, happens.

Once Victor is satisfied he is handsome and delightful, he steps into the “cellar” to pick a wine for the pre-gaming. Something sparkling he thinks, like his Mother. She always greets guests with Prosecco, a habit learned during her graduate studies in Rome, and he chooses a bubbly by Schramsberg he loved sampling on his last trip to Napa.

He gets everything in order—the champs chilling in a silver bucket, the flowers he picked up the night before artfully arranged on his window side table so they can watch the sun go down, a couple lit candles, and a board featuring some selections from the Cheese Cave. 

At one after six, his intercom buzzes. “Yes?”

 _Mister Katsuki is here,_ the doorman answers.

“Send him up, please,” Victor says.

He wipes his palms on his jeans, hovering by the door. Makkachin watches him with interest until Yuuri knocks. Victor throws the door open with a bright grin. “Yuuri! Come in please—“

Yuuri smiles with a small bit of bashfulness that makes Victor’s heart soar. “Hi,” he says as he walks in. Victor helps him shrug out of his jacket—under it, Yuuri wears a blue button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled just so, showing off his incredibly toned forearms. He has jeans on as well as a pair of gray chukkas. He also has a gift bag the perfect dimensions for wine in his hands. “Here.”

Victor takes it—it’s a bottle of Ice wine, decent quality at that. Victor gives him a grin. “How about I chill this for after dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Yuuri says as he looks around the flat. Victor’s kitchen is filled with stainless steel appliances and blood red walls. A black backsplash rounds it out with gray chairs at his breakfast bar. There’s custom lighting throughout the space—the dining area is the same red as the kitchen with a black eight-seater table and upholstered chairs in a black and white damask. The living room extends the red with big, black leather custom furniture including a matching dog bed for—

Here he comes, barreling off his aforementioned bed. Makkachin yips and beans into Yuuri, knocking him to the floor. Victor sprints to them in alarm, but Yuuri laughs. It’s musical, sweet like a cassis macaron, and Victor’s heart flutters. 

Makkachin kisses Yuuri within an inch of his life, and Victor whistles. Makka perks up and gets off his date. “No Makka, we don’t ruin our new friends’ clothing,” Victor scolds.

Makka droops a bit with his smile becoming a serious expression.

Yuuri stands, smoothing his shirt. “It’s okay. Vicchan does the same, and poodles don’t shed. It’s fine.”

Victor smiles and pushes the voice telling him to be good down. He kisses Yuuri’s cheek, feeling his skin heat from the touch of his lips. Which he exfoliated and put balm on, natch. 

Yuuri blinks for a second before smiling. He returns the gesture, Victor lamenting having made a reservation and not just opting for delivery in a few hours. Ah well—next time, he decides as he takes Yuuri’s hand, leading him to the romantic set up. Yuuri blushes even prettier as he looks at their spread.

“Bubbly?” Victor asks as he pops the cork.

“Please,” Yuuri says. 

Victor hands him a full flute, and they clink their glasses together. “To us. To the start of something wonderful.”

Yuuri looks so cute, his eyes warming for a second before turning both pleased and apprehensive. “To us.”

Makkachin curls up between them. Victor looks at Yuuri, his eyes reflecting amber like a smokey single-malt from the candles, and his pulse races. When Yuuri smiles, Victor thinks he hears music—not his usual taste, not what he’d choose but a soft ballad popular a few years ago about love and giving it all to a person. 

It’s too early for such declarations, so Victor clears his throat instead. “So, are you off today?”

“Mhm no but we didn’t have any later business so I was able to leave around three,” Yuuri says after a mouthful of champagne. “Tomorrow I’m scheduled off, though. That’s why I said tonight was preferable—no curfew.”

Victor clears his throat and adjusts how he sits. “Makes sense.”

Yuuri rests his chin in one hand. “What’s your background, if you don’t mind my asking? You know a bit of mine.”

Victor smiles. “I’m from New York—my parents divorced when I was in 9th grade so I spent the school week on the UES and the weekends in Southampton. I have an MBA from Wharton. The Bay is the best place for tech start ups, so that’s why I came here after graduating.”

Yuuri nods and tops off their glasses. 

“My parents aren’t toxic,” Victor expounds. “But they’re self-involved. I was on my own a lot even before the divorce. Dad’s in Hedge Funds, Mom is a socialite on a lot of boards like the Met and the Snowflake Ball.”

Now Yuuri’s eyes dim with sympathetic pain. “Oh.”

Victor shrugs. “They love me in their own way! I’m not hung up on it, really! It just is what it is.”

Yuuri nods. “Well…that’s good, I guess. It’s just not like my own family. Though I work with them so it’s different by default.”

“I looked you up,” Victor says. “Your facility is beautiful, as is your family.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says with a bashful glance. “Well, I got my degree in Detroit, and I got licensed not long after moving back. It’s easier when your family is in the industry, though my Dad is interviewing interns right now. We’re busy enough we can use the extra pair of hands.”

“That’s good!” Victor’s grin is wide. Yuuri looks at him, then he adjusts his glasses and gives him a deeper focus. Victor opens his mouth to ask what the issue is when he remembers. “Ah! You noticed!”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “They’re…I’m not imagining them?”

“You better not be, they cost four grand,” Victor says with cheer. He smiles again, bigger and more deliberate, angling to show off better.

“May I?” Yuuri asks, already halfway standing. 

“Please,” Victor says.

Yuuri stands above him bent at the waist. The pad of his finger lightly adjusts Victor’s upper lip so he can see the fangs clearly—they’re permanent and were done by a cosmetic dentist the first fiscal year Living Legend finished in the black. The dentist practically danced at Victor’s consultation—she was ready for a challenge and loves body modification.

“She advised me to go longer than I thought I wanted, and she was right,” Victor explains. “I’d have regretted them if they were too short.”

The look in Yuuri’s eyes isn’t solely scrutinizing—it’s like a the slow stoking of a fire, Victor’s throat drying as he tries to swallow in response. Yuuri licks his lips. “They suit you.” His voice is like it was on the phone—smokey, thick, seductive. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Victor responds. Once again, he thinks the reservation was a poor choice. He hungers for something more satisfactory than food. 

A chime rings on Victor’s phone, breaking the spell. Yuuri coughs and steps back with a deep pink flush across the bridge of his nose. It’s the text from his pre-booked car informing him they’re out front. Damn. Ah well. “Come, the driver’s here,” he says. 

Yuuri nods, and Victor escorts him to the lobby with a hand pressed to the small of his back. They enter the backseat of the town car, Victor giving the driver the name of the restaurant. Traffic is light by Bay Area standards, and they make their reserved time at Alexander’s with two minutes to spare. The table is small and intimate, and once they sit, Victor makes a point to reach out and take Yuuri’s hands in his.

Yuuri is a study in contradictions, Victor realizes. There are moments like now, where he has a hard time meeting Victor’s gaze, flushing and hesitant like he’s caught by the first pangs of puppy love. Then there are the moments back at the penthouse where he looked ready to ride Victor at the table without a care in the world. 

The server comes and before Yuuri can ask, Victor gives her a smile. “We’ll both have the Study of Beef with wine pairings, please.” 

Yuuri audibly chokes as the server grins and heads off to put in their order. 

Victor doesn’t pay it any mind. His fingers—with the peacock blue on his nails that’s almost the same shade as Yuuri’s shirt—stroke the back of his knuckles. His skin is dry, probably due to latex gloves and chemicals at his work. Victor wants to see the funeral home in person, maybe even steal some kisses in the crematorium. 

“What do you do for fun, Yuuri?” he says in lieu of asking to visit the Yu-Topia Funeral Home.

“I dance, mostly,” Yuuri says. “Different types, though ballet is my personal favorite. I’ve done it all, even pole competitions.”

Victor’s temperature rises about twenty degrees at the mental image of Yuuri hanging by his thighs upside down from a pole. “Wow.”

“I play video games, too,” Yuuri says. “Mostly with my roommate when we’re both free. I read a lot, also.”

Victor perks. “Books! I love books! I would have majored in Literature if I hadn’t done Business—I even had an idea for a senior thesis about Vampire literature in the Gothic period.”

The first wine pairing arrives. Yuuri swirls his glass. “Vampires. Get out. I’d have never guessed,” he deadpans. 

Victor snorts. “Look, Mary Shelley lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and us modern Goths are just trying to play catch up.”

Yuuri laughs—it’s a beautiful, bright sound Victor wants in his life every day. He falls in love again. Course by course of their meal, they talk and compare what they like best—sports (they both are into figure skating, Victor making a note to find a rink for a date come winter), restaurants, movies (Yuuri has never seen _Bram Stoker’s Dracula_ , which is an outrage), television shows—

Yuuri shows him a video of Vicchan rolling around in carpet and making these hideously cute snorfles. Victor shows Yuuri a video of Makkachin’s Gotcha Day, the happiness when he realizes he’s come home moving them both to joyful tears. 

Once they’ve finished their cherry cremeux, Victor pays and they hire a car to his flat. He takes Yuuri’s hand in the backseat as they idly chat. Once at his building, Victor clears his throat. “It’s early enough that, if you wanted, we could enjoy the wine you brought.”

“I’d like that,” Yuuri says. “Lead the way.”

Victor smiles and escorts him to the top floor. There’s two penthouses, Victor’s on the right and a retired prima ballerina living in the one on the left. Victor steers Yuuri to his from the elevator, and as he opens the door he pauses to press a long, deep kiss to Yuuri’s mouth. 

Makkachin barks with excitement, but Victor barely notices as Yuuri kisses him back, shoving him through the open doorway into his apartment. Makkachin’s paws bat at both of their waists and thighs as they hungrily kiss while stumbling towards the living room. Victor’s hands attach to Yuuri’s hair, destroying it, while Yuuri undoes the first four buttons on Victor’s shirt. 

Makkachin barks again but it’s a different, familiar, _insistent_ bark. Victor opens one eye, seeing that Makka sits by the front door next to his leash with a needy expression.

Shit.

Victor breaks the kiss. “Darling,” he says. “Give me…eight minutes. Eight minutes and I’m all yours.”

Yuuri is patently (and also sexily) confused with his kiss-bitten lips and mussed hair until he hears Makka whine. His expression clears. “Puppy first,” he agrees. “Hurry back.”

“Oh, I will,” Victor promises as he snaps on the leash. “Come, Makka.”

Makka trots ahead, and Victor takes the slowest lift ride of his life. Makka then, for the first time ever, prefers to sniff and poke around instead of doing his business. 

“Please,” Victor begs after the eighth bush inspection. “My family is starving, my crops are wilting. Makkachin, please.”

Makkachin finally pees three times, and Victor more or less drags him back into his building. The elevator takes ten years to arrive. The ride itself takes another ten. Victor is so desperate his hands shake when he tries to fish out his keys, then he drops them three times, then he finally manages to unlock the door. He unclips the leash, and Makka takes off for parts unknown. 

Victor hangs his jacket to the sound of his guest clearing his throat. Once he’s done, he turns with a smile that immediately becomes him swallowing his tongue. 

Yuuri lies on Victor’s couch in nothing but a tight pair of black boxer briefs. His glasses are gone, his hair has been pushed back off his forehead, and the look in his eyes is _lethal_. 

Victor’s never been more turned on in his life.

“Hi,” Yuuri says as he drags a finger across an incredible collarbone that Victor considers pouring ligonberry jam onto solely for the purpose of licking him clean. “I thought it’d be invasive if I snooped through your house for the bedroom.”

“Mmhmmahdanna,” Victor eloquently replies. 

Yuuri giggles. He sits up onto his knees. With a bite of his bottom lip, he raises his right hand, giving Victor the “come here” gesture with his index and middle fingers. 

Victor moves like a siren compels him, finishing Yuuri’s attempt at taking off the shirt. Yes, it’s McQueen, but it drops to the hardwoods like it’s an ill-fitting t-shirt from when Victor ran Cross Country for Columbia Prep. Without taking his eyes off his prize, he undoes the fly of his jeans and stops walking to toe off his boots. The jeans drop to the floor, he takes off his socks, and kneels in front of Yuuri as close as he can. 

He ponders those contradictions again as he runs his hands down Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri’s expression doesn’t waver, but gooseflesh rises on his skin. If he kisses Yuuri he won’t be able to stop, but there’s some necessary clarifying that needs to happen first. 

“What are you into?” Victor asks. 

“It’s easier to ask what I dislike,” Yuuri says. “Don’t hit me. Don’t humiliate me. Everything else is fair game.”

Victor inhales. “Everything?” He pushes so Yuuri ends up on his back a second time, though now Victor rests between his (hell yes, powerful as fuck) thighs. He strokes up their insides, and Yuuri takes that as an invitation to part them further. 

“Mmm,” Yuuri thinks. “How about you run it by me first?”

Victor bends, lips meeting Yuuri’s. He’s pliant under him, hot as a late summer heatwave, and Victor ponders since the world is his oyster. When they break apart, he smiles. “Let’s start on easy mode.”

Yuuri narrows his eyes. “I can take—“

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Victor cuts him off. “I’m saying that for our first time, I’d like to focus on you. I don’t think I can if I’m concerned with rope burn or safe words. Vanilla now, kink starting round two. Deal?”

“Deal,” Yuuri says with an appeased smile. His hands stroke Victor’s cheeks, thumbs drifting to the corners of his lips. “Do you bite, Victor?” 

Yeah, he likes the fangs. Victor’s had dates get unnerved by them in the past—it’s a joy to have someone find them hot. “If you like.”

Yuuri kisses him, his hips rising into his. The thin barriers of their underwear add friction to their interested cocks, Victor feeling the rapid rush of blood south. Yuuri tastes like cherries, wine, and everything Victor’s ever prayed for: every hope, wish, romantic dream, and illicit fantasy made flesh.

Victor regretfully stops kissing Yuuri’s lips to kiss his throat, nibbling but not marking with his fangs. Yuuri gasps at a spot to the right of his Adam’s apple, moans when he bites hard on the dip in his collarbone. Victor continues his descent, little red indents from the eyeteeth a map, but before he gets too far, Yuuri pushes him to roll on top.

Except…they’re on a leather sofa.

They land with an ugly thud between the couch and the antique Victorian coffee table that (fortunately and for once) did not have a lit candelabra at its center. Victor wheezes from 128 pounds of mortician landing on his abs but then Yuuri grips his wrists, holding them by his head as he bites Victor’s bottom lip. 

It’s. Amazing.

Yuuri doesn’t draw blood, but he grins and licks his own lip as he grinds his ass down on Victor’s erection. “Oh,” he says as he throws his head back. He lets go of Victor as he sinuously rolls his hips. “Already so into it,” he says with a wink. 

“If you saw you, you’d agree,” Victor manages to choke. 

Yuuri grabs his jeans, which he happened to fold back-pocket up on the table. He pulls out a square gold packet and a rectangular purple one. 

Victor stares. “Am I dead? Is this heaven?” he inquires as Yuuri tears a corner off the condom with his teeth, spitting it on the floor. He pulls Victor’s briefs down just enough to free his cock. 

Yuuri eyes it with his tongue between his lips, like he’s trying to make a life-altering decision. It’s flushed a dark red, and Victor knows it’s not the longest on record, but he considers Baby Vityasha quite elegant. 

Yuuri’s eyes meet Victor’s. “Remember what I said on the phone?”

Victor wants it engraved on his headstone. “God yes.”

Yuuri wets his lips. “Keep it in mind for round two.” He pulls out the condom and carefully rolls it down Victor’s length, an inch at a time. Once he’s done, he seizes the opportunity to hold him in one hand, feeling the way it curves against his palm. Even through the latex, his touch is like heaven. Victor can’t help the small sound passing through his parted lips.

Yuuri lifts high enough to drop trou, sitting his boxers by his jeans. Victor admires the sight like he’s a marble statue in the Louvre—his cock is not as long as his, but it’s thicker and with a deeper curve. He’s uncut, which Victor loves, and the black hair surrounding his base looks soft. Victor aches to have it in his mouth, to take Yuuri apart with his tongue and lips, but for now Yuuri seems to want something different. 

Tearing the purple foil at its notch more carefully than he did the condom, Yuuri coats three of his fingers, lifting his hips to slide two in slowly. He huffs out a low moan, and Victor’s brain short circuits. “Um,” he tries. “Are you—“

“Our phone call made me spend an hour in my shower with Sparky both last night and this afternoon,” Yuuri says matter-of-factly. 

“Sparky?” Victor feels dumb, but a gorgeous boy is fingering himself wide open for him. He’s allowed to need time for processing things.

“Six settings, waterproof, high-grade silicon—he was a Christmas gift to myself last year,” Yuuri answers. 

Oh God. Yuuri has toys. _Yuuri uses toys thinking about Victor_. 

“I’m going to die and it’s your fault, you minx,” Victor growls.

Yuuri sighs, jolts as a thick stripe of fluid erupts from his head. His hand moves the same way, and Victor realizes what he’s doing. He’s massaging his prostate. “Mmm well, it’s mutually assured destruction.”

Yuuri adds a digit, making a noise as he rocks down onto his hand. His cock and cheeks darken with a deeper crimson flush, and he bites his bottom lip to muffle a shout. “Okay,” he manages with a bead of sweat dropping off his bowed head onto Victor’s chest. Grabbing the lube, he liberally squeezes it onto his hand and then jacks Victor until he’s satisfied with his newfound slickness. 

And then Yuuri—with the precision and grace of his ballet passion—lowers himself onto Victor like he’s done it thousands of times. He sighs, his head rolls back towards his shoulder blades while his back makes an elegant arch, his hands grip Victor’s for purchase, and then…he moves. Yuuri takes his pleasure slow, grinding to music he must hear inside his head though Victor thinks if he concentrates he can as well, some kind of low love song drenched in metaphors for bedding your soulmate down for days.

Yuuri rides him like he was born to, like he’s trained for it since his youth, and Victor stares fixated at the sweat drops on his forehead, the concentration of lust on his face, the heat and longing in his eyes as he entwines their fingers. He grinds, drops the angle of his hips, and his eyelashes flutter while a cry drags from his throat. 

Victor wants to last, wants to spend his life getting road rash from his hardwoods and throw rug while this beautiful being has their bodies joined so close. Instead he knows he can’t, their first coupling is too intense, and he manages a “Yuuri, I’m close—“

He is, the fire in his groin and stomach about to explode before the lingering sparks fizzle and fade, and Yuuri nods as he gyrates harder, faster, and Victor calls his name with his eyes closed and his breath a shallow gasp. His legs tingle and his heart stops then restarts far too rapidly, and when he opens his eyes, Yuuri spits to jack himself since the lube’s smeared all over where he’s touched Victor. 

Yuuri pants, groans, and then his back braces as his orgasm paints Victor like a canvas from Pollack’s Springs Period. Yuuri loosens, sagging towards Victor’s chest as he comes down from his rush. 

Victor puts his hands on his waist, tugging him once he moves off his soft cock into a warm embrace. It’s like now that he’s come, all of Yuuri’s bravado’s faded. He seems small somehow, and he breathes in and out in Victor’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Victor prompts. “You’re so lovely, you know?”

Yuuri’s hands grip Victor tighter for a moment. Then they loosen. “Thanks. You too.” He opens his mouth, leaving it hanging for a minute before he finally says, “I should clean up.”

“Why?” Victor asks. “You’re welcome to stay.” For always he wants to say, but he chooses a different tactic. At this moment Yuuri seems like a timid fox kit, and Victor would sooner die than scare him into the wilderness. “I make a very good breakfast, and I have fixings for mimosas.”

“I don’t usu—“ Yuuri cuts himself off. He thinks, and Victor fears he may run after all. Yuuri’s shoulders are tense under his hands. Just like that, it fades. “I’ll stay.”

Victor smiles and kisses his sweaty hair. They stay on the floor for a while, even though Victor’s back begins to twinge. When he begins to suggest they move to the softer California King bed Yuuri says, “Victor?”

“Hm?” 

“Be gentle with me,” Yuuri finishes. “Please.”

Be gentle, Victor contemplates. He wonders at the idiots who did otherwise, not realizing they threw away a silk purse instead of a sow’s ear. 

“You have nothing to fear, Yuuri,” Victor says as soothing as he can. “I promise I will.”

He feels Yuuri smile into his skin then, and Victor slowly smiles himself.


	6. Coffee, Extra Light, Extra Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the first date. Yuuri's past bears down on him in a surprising way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This opens with a bit of light somnophilia, but it's only a paragraph or two before Yuuri wakes up for the sensitive!

Everything is warm, enveloping him like love and fresh-baked tea cakes, and Yuuri sleeps better than he has in longer than he cares to contemplate. He’s not really dreaming, not right now; it’s just a kind of pleasant, heavy slumber. 

Total relaxation. 

His languid state is invaded, slowly, like local honey trickling from a hive. Something hot, hard, smooth slides between his thighs, and Yuuri doesn’t open his eyes as he arcs back into a warm body, one arm crossing over his own chest as a hand slips between his legs to stroke the one part of his anatomy that is completely awake. 

A mouth trails over the nape of his neck, and sharp eye teeth dot the meat of his shoulder with love-bites. Yuuri huffs out a moan, snaking his arm behind Victor’s neck to tug on his hair, pulling him closer while Victor fucks his thighs, aided by lube and his own pre-come. 

The head of Victor’s cock slides between the gap in Yuuri’s thighs, placing the most delicious pressure on his perineum and the underside of his balls, and Yuuri bites down on his bottom lip as he feels that light and heat build in his body, starting from the pit of his stomach and rising, rising—

“Victor,” Yuuri groans as he coats Victor’s hand in a sticky, satisfying release. 

Victor makes a noise muffled by the crook of Yuuri’s neck, his body shuddering and his rhythm falling to pieces. Yuuri lets himself be toyed with, allows Victor to treat him like a marital aid instead of a person until Yuuri feels his hot seed coat his thighs and the underside of his cock. 

Victor pants into his back with his head dipped low, and this is when Yuuri opens his eyes. “Morning,” he offers with a laugh.

“Morning,” Victor replies. He kisses the side of Yuuri’s throat, and then he’s gone, getting out of the bed and vanishing for a minute or two. Yuuri doesn’t follow; it’s been…ages since he had something even close to this. Morning sex is his favorite but he’s so rarely had the opportunity, it’s akin to a decadent treat saved for celebrations. 

Maybe with Victor it can finally be an actual habit.

Victor returns with a washcloth and a towel that surely are some ungodly high thread count of Egyptian cotton. He pulls the covers off Yuuri in a way that the cool air of the room won’t be shocking, and then he wipes him down with a tenderness that makes Yuuri feel as awkward as he does cherished. He’s dried with the towel, and then Victor sees to himself.

Yuuri stretches on the bed like a sex kitten. He’s not blind to how Victor’s eyes watch him when he moves, and he definitely noticed the bliss on his face when he rode him while discussing Sparky ten hours ago.

“Was that alright?” Victor asks as he rejoins him. Yuuri slides a little low in the overwhelmingly large bed, preferring to tuck his head under Victor’s chin. His heart beats into Yuuri’s right ear like it’s in surround sound, and Yuuri can’t help but smile as he traces the letters of Victor’s name into his pecs.

“Better than coffee,” Yuuri quips.

The silence Victor offers as a reply has a strange quality.

Yuuri hums. The closeness is lovely. It’s like living in an Al Green song, or maybe one by the Delfonics. His brow furrows as he wonders why his music references suddenly are a minimum of twenty years older than Mari, and then he realizes the Soul station on Sirius is his mother’s poison of choice when she controls the radio at the mortuary.

The refrain of  _ you gave my pride back to me, precious friend,  _ is abruptly cut off by Victor’s interjection of, “I mean…I didn’t ask first. I just kind of went for it. That’s okay?”

Ah. Yuuri writes Y + V and then outlines it in a heart this time over Victor’s sternum. “One-night stands doing that would be a problem, but I think my boyfriend can have blanket consent, you know?”

Victor’s soft, extremely gay gasp more than anything tips Yuuri off to his chosen phrasing. His fingers stop moving. His heart leaps into his throat.

_ This _ is when the panic and the nerves set in. Of course. He couldn’t be anxious about them like a normal person.

“I’m your boyfriend,” Victor says. It’s the identical tone Rudolph uses in the old Rankin-Bass Christmas special about Clarice thinking he’s cute. It’s  _ adorable _ , but it’s also terrifying, Yuuri’s inner monologue turning into a Doomsday clock for when Victor gets sick of him and throws him away.

He will. They always do.

“I wanted to say that myself,” Victor continues with nothing but joy and utter obliviousness to the volcanic eruption of terror the man in his arms has now become. “I thought it’d scare you away, since we’ve only just met, but Yuuri…I just…”

_ Yuuri is not in right now, _ Yuuri thinks,  _ but if you leave a message at the sound of the beep, he’ll call you back when he’s done silently screaming in fluent Gay Disaster. _

“I’m so sure of this,” Victor says. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way. Not this soon or…really, at all, with anyone, but I also know bringing a U-Haul to a second date is…not fun for most people and—“

Yuuri lifts his head and looks at Victor with complete bafflement.

Victor stops babbling at once like a river that was beset upon by a hoard of beavers that have drank too many Red Bulls. “Um. Anyways. I like you. Enough that I’m already aware I don’t have eyes for anyone else. Hearing that you feel the same is wonderful!”

Yuuri looks at the light in Victor’s eyes, far eclipsing any moonrise or star shower he’s ever witnessed. He sees the bright, bow-shape of his smile with his fangs gleaming white as they peek over his bottom teeth. He feels the care in his touch, the allowances to let Yuuri lead them, the offers of meeting him halfway instead of adding pressure—

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. The fear’s not gone, it probably will never fully leave him, but this may be the moment Yuuri truly realizes  _ he can be loved _ .

He can be loved. It wasn’t him, after all. Phichit was right, which Yuuri will be annoyed by later since it involves Phichit being insufferable, but it was making poor choices. It was lapses in judgment and doubting of his self-worth. He’s deserving of this, as egotistical is it feels to think. Yuuri can be loved, and with time he will be loved by Victor. 

He’ll love Victor in return. Hell, he’s probably two-thirds there. 

Victor holds him just a little tighter, and Yuuri feels the steel cable coiling around his spine loosen. He can relax again, angling his face so they can kiss. The light filters in through Victor’s sheer lace curtains, dim and gray from [Karl the Fog’s](https://twitter.com/KarlTheFog) insistent return, so when they break apart Yuuri asks for the time. 

“9:30,” Victor answers with a glance at his antique brass alarm clock. 

Yuuri grumbles. “I have to swing by work and Phichit heads out at noon for the rest of the day, so I should probably go.”

Victor sighs. “Okay. How about I make you breakfast while you get ready? There’s spare towels in the cabinet by the right sink, and you’re welcome to use whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says. He kisses Victor before exiting the bed. They had the presence of mind to bring their clothes in last night when they went to sleep, and Yuuri grabs his jeans, boxers, and shirt before taking the time every human needs to make sense of a new set of shower controls. The water comes out too hot at first, but Yuuri adjusts it to his preferred temperature, climbs in, and washes up.

Victor’s bath wash smells like…a temple, Yuuri thinks as he lathers with it. Like sacred cypress trees and a bit of myrrh. Then again, he’s dating a Goth. He’d hardly expect him to smell like sugar cookies. At least he doesn’t use anything that reeks of lilies, Yuuri ponders, once he’s clean and dry, spitting foam into one of the sinks thanks to a spare toothbrush obviously pilfered from a hotel chain and Victor’s choice of fennel-flavored Tom’s of Maine.  

That may have to go, Yuuri thinks as he gargles. Anise flavor is awful. He won’t even touch Sambuca unless forced at gunpoint, and brushing his teeth with it doesn’t make his mouth feel terribly clean. 

There’s a cobalt bottle with a screw top Yuuri realizes is some kind of cologne, and he dabs just a little under his jawline. That smell that trails on Victor’s skin…this is where it comes from, an oil that is a little bit of black poppy and narcissus. 

Again, Yuuri’s grateful Victor doesn’t use anything that smells like lilies. He can’t help but associate their aroma with embalming fluids and mourning due to his line of work. It’s hideous, and he has to fight his gag reflex if they are too many in a room with him. 

Easter is a horrid time of year, partly due to this. Between the bad chocolate, the poorly boiled eggs, and the lilies, his life is endless suffering every Spring.

After making sure there aren’t any visible hickies, Yuuri heads out of the bathroom. Makkachin greets him in a dog-ball on the not-fully-made bed. He wags his purple tail, and Yuuri can’t resist flopping next to him for a minute and giving him a long hug. Vicchan is the Greatest, but having a dog that’s proper hugging size around is amazing.

Victor must be in the kitchen, and Yuuri can smell something sweet in wafting through the ventilation. He follows the path he remembers from the night before, the hallway giving way to the living room that they fucked in, and then there’s the massive dining table to his right. There are two voices, Victor and—

Yuuri freezes like he was told to in a child’s game.

Victor is laughing with a tall, blond man with clear green eyes. He has on a leather bomber in a shade of ruby red with a black, tight tee under it, and a pair of jeans that show off an ass that won’t quit. Victor sips a mug of coffee that’s shaped like a bat, and he makes eye contact. “Yuuri! I made blintzes.”

Yuuri doesn’t look at him, his world having narrowed to a poorly-dug tunnel aimed at his apparent good friend. 

Said friend is looking at Yuuri with obvious recognition. “Victor—“ he says. “You didn’t mention you have company. I could have just talked to you at the office tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Victor says with a smile. “Chris, this is Yuuri.  _ The _ Yuuri.”

“ _ The _ Yuuri, indeed,” Chris replies with a smile. Yuuri can’t read how sincere it is, but the handshake is firm and polite. 

“Nice to meet you…was it Chris?” Yuuri asks. This is…so bad. Victor’s about 30 floors up. He’ll be dead before he hits the ground, he ponders as he looks at the terrace beyond a simple glass door. It’s about eight feet from where he stands…he’s quick, like a cat, according to Phichit so he can—

“Yes, Chris Giacometti,” Chris replies. He’s gone along with it. “You took our dear Vitya to lunch the other day, but none of us got a…proper introduction.”

When he ran and hid during the catcalling, Yuuri didn’t really look at them, he realizes. The only one he could pick out with a sniper rifle is the surly intern who made him feel weirdly judged in their lobby. Victor never said any of their names, either. 

Shit.

Shit.

Shit shit shit _shit_ **_shit_**.

“Oh! I forgot to get some bubbly for the mimosas,” Victor chirps. This is when Yuuri realizes he’s in a pair of burgundy and black paisley lounge pants and a black sweatshirt. He’s so beautiful Yuuri aches. “I’ll be right back…you two will be seeing a lot of each other, so…actually. No. Chris, you’ll humiliate me the second I’m out of earshot.”

Chris laughs. “Maybe not this time,” he says. 

Victor winks, and as he passes Yuuri by he pauses to kiss him. Yuuri leans into it, but his eyes stay on Chris.

Victor doesn’t notice, walking away while he hums something that sounds like it’s meant to be waltzed with a lover. 

Yuuri stares at Chris.

Chris takes a sip of his own coffee, then remembers himself and pours Yuuri one as well. Apparently Victor’s orderly aesthetic doesn’t apply to cups; Chris has a plain white mug that reads  _ bone daddy _ in a font made out of cartoonish femurs, and the one he offers Yuuri is decorated with a black and white photo of Christina Ricci’s Wednesday Addams. “You still take it light and sweet?” Chris asks.

“Yeah,” Yuuri answers dully. 

Chris doctors his coffee and hands him the Wednesday mug. Yuuri doesn’t drink, but he needs to do something with his hands. Hopefully the piles of sweat on his palms won’t cause him to drop the coffee.

Chris watches Yuuri while he drinks, and Yuuri watches Chris while he stands frozen by awkwardness and memories from eight months ago.

“You never told me what happened,” Chris says. There’s no bitterness or regret. Just a statement.

“I—“ Yuuri starts. “I didn’t know…how to say it, I guess.”

Chris nods. “That’s fair, but you know…one minute, I’m spending my weekends with you, and then I wake up and you’re gone like you never existed…I won’t pretend that I wasn’t wondering what I did.”

They had gone to dinner at Rivoli the night before, a month-aversary thing. Chris started asking about Yuuri’s job and friends.  _ I wonder if I’m dating a spy _ , he’d quipped over oysters with pear mignonette washed down with a cocktail made of scotch and lemon. He took Yuuri home, they set the sheets on fire, and when Chris fell asleep, Yuuri ran, blocking Chris’s number and praying he’d never run into him again.

The Bay Area is weirdly small, though, and…here they are.

Yuuri sets the coffee on the counter. “I’m sorry for that,” he says. “I just wasn’t in a place for anything serious. I should have handled it differently, though, but it wasn’t you.” He winces. “I sound like I’m giving you some kind of placating lie, but…it really wasn’t you.”

Chris sips from his mug, then he pours a refill. He ponders the liquid in it before he says, “While it stung at the time, I’m fine now. I was honestly curious so I could avoid making the same error more than once, since I just met someone myself. But I will tell you right now, if you do Victor like that, I will absolutely find you and make you regret it.”

Yuuri jerks his head in his direction. Chris is placid, the words sedate like he’s recommending a nature special. “I wouldn’t…no, I won’t…I wouldn’t  _ hurt _ him, I just—“

“Good,” Chris says. He smiles. “Then everything’s fine, though…we should probably tell him that, while ancient, we have a history.”

“I’ll…do it,” Yuuri says. “Probably should come from me, I think.”

“Sure,” Chris says with a nod. “It won’t matter to him, I’m sure, but honesty is always the best policy in these times.”

“Mhm,” Yuuri says. Victor returns with a pretty bottle with foil around the cork, and Yuuri looks at the digital clock on the microwave. It’s getting late. “Can I have a raincheck? I have to go.”

“Aw, okay,” Victor says with genuine disappointment as he pops the cork. He hands Chris the bottle, and puts his hand on Yuuri’s lower back. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Nice seeing you, Yuuri,” Chris says with a genuine smile.

“You too,” Yuuri says, hoping Victor doesn’t notice the word choice.

He doesn’t, the second they’re alone in the elevator, Victor pressing him into the shining, mirrored wall and kissing him so passionately Yuuri is worried he might get arrested for indecency the short distance from the guest parking deck to the Yu-Topia Mortuary.

“When can I see you again?” Victor asks with kiss-bitten lips as they part.

“I’m…free Thursday and Friday,” Yuuri manages.

“Can I pick you up Wednesday, keep you locked in my home for a few days?” Victor asks.

“Are you holding me ransom?” Yuuri teases.

“The sexiest kidnapping ever, yes,” Victor offers before he kisses him again. The doors open to the parking deck. “I want to show you something next time you come over, and I’d like more than just a single night with you.”

“If I can bring Vicchan, sure,” Yuuri says. “Makkachin likes other dogs, right?”

“Yes,” Victor says. Another kiss. Another. If he doesn’t stop, Yuuri’s gonna suck him off while coming in his jeans instead of honoring his commitments. “Please.”

“Okay, then sure.” Yuuri allows one more toe-curling kiss. Victor tries to keep going, but Yuuri makes a noise. “I have to go!” He swats Victor’s arm and breaks free. “I’ll hose you down!”

“You’re just as bad,” Victor says. “You’re a minx, like I said.”

Yuuri exits the elevator, slowly since Victor won’t release his hand. “Call me and we’ll finalize the plans for Wednesday.”

“I will!” Victor says. Yuuri walks to his hearse, and as he gets into the driver’s seat, he notices Victor’s holding the lift door open to watch him go. Yuuri waves, Victor blows a kiss back, and then it’s time to go. While foggy, the weather is pleasant enough, and Yuuri drives to work with his windows rolled down as Halsey serenades the journey.

_ I know I always go missing, and you’re lying awake, but if you ask why I’m distant, oh I’m runnin’ away— _

Right in the feel bads.

Yuuri changes the station to Queen Carly Rae Jepsen, who Phichit more or less brainwashed him into liking as the summer E-MO-TION dropped, it played in the house nonstop. Traffic is blessedly light, and he pulls right up front of the Yu-Topia Funeral Home, parking directly by the door.

No one’s at the front desk, which is kind of unusual, but also it’s not a day they normally have a ton of people visiting to make arrangements.Death does not actually take holidays, but most of the planning aspects of the business happen during normal business hours. The body preparation, services, and cremations are any time tasks, though.

Monday morning is going to open with a service for a college-age girl killed in a car accident, and Yuuri isn’t looking forward to that. Kids and young adults always shake up his mom, for one thing, though she never lets the clients see it. He remembers being in 9 th grade, finding her out back smoking a cigarette pulled from an old, dented soft-pack of Marlboro Reds while sitting with her best friend from high school. 

The last service that day was a six year old who succumbed to Hodgkin’s disease. 

His mom didn’t normally smoke (still doesn’t), but that day was an exception. Her smile was a little too loud and bright when she sent him inside to finish his homework. 

Yuuri would prefer not to bury people younger than him. The waste of potential is grossly offensive. It’s a fact of life, but…it’s not _ right _ . 

As he takes the stairs two at a time like always, he makes a point to insist on eating dinner with his parents the next day instead of heading home when he clocks out. They can make the family katsudon, watch Terrace House, and pretend they didn’t host the funeral of a girl too young to legally drink less than 12 hours earlier.

There’s laughter coming from his father’s office, and Yuuri pokes his head in. “Dad?”

His father’s not in a suit, but a purple sweater and a pair of chinos. Across from him sits a boy in an interview-appropriate black suit with bleached hair like cornsilk. There’s a bright red streak in his bangs, like red-red like a Ferrari as opposed to auburn. He looks like he’s ten years old.

He also makes a meeping sound like that Beaker Muppet and… _stares_ at Yuuri.

Yuuri favors him with a confused look for a second before giving his father his attention. “I just wanted to drop by and see if those catalogues came yet? I was the one they talked to so—“

His dad smiles as he picks up two thick brochures: one for caskets, one for a new florist chain that does more contemporary, out of the box arrangements with Fair Trade hothouse offerings. They try to support local, sustainable, and ethical vendors when they can. “Got them, Yuuri! The mail came right after you left yesterday. I haven’t gone through them yet, but your mother has, and she liked what she saw.”

“Great! Then I’ll…” Yuuri trails off. The kid is still just…staring at him. His eyes are super wide and sparkly, even. Like Yuuri is some kind of rock and roll Jesus. “Um…” Yuuri says. He looks back at his father before giving the kid another look, one full of bewilderment that he hopes also expresses the depths of how unnerved he is. “Can…I…help you?”

“You’re Katsuki Yuuri,” the boy says. “You were valedictorian of the Mortuary Science program at Wayne State when I started my freshman year.  _ Your speech altered the entire course of my destiny. _ ”

Yuuri is dimly aware of his father smothering a laugh behind some fake coughing. “Sure?”

“Your paper about the de-stigmatization of Western funeral practices through embracing Eastern traditions was…the most brilliant thing in the entire world!” His eyes are wobbly now, and Yuuri takes a step back out of reflex. “I have the abstract memorized. It’s just… _ so choice _ .”

“Okay, um,” Yuuri looks at his dad, who will not stop laughing. He’s gotten louder, actually. “Well. Thanks, I guess.” He clears his throat and makes an exasperated gesture at his dad, like he’s a living reaction gif.

Dad does not, in fact, stop laughing.

Yuuri sighs. “Anyways, I just figured I’d swing by and ask. See you tomorrow, Dad.”

“And Minami too,” Dad announces with aplomb. “I just selected him to be our new intern.”

“Who’s Mina—“ Yuuri turns back to the kid, who is literally incandescent with joy.

Oh lord.

_Well._

Yuuri smiles at Minami with a crooked expression. “Nice to work with you, then. See you tomorrow.”

“My entire life has been a path and this moment is its culmination,” Minami breathes.

“Oh well that’s…neat,” Yuuri says. “Thanks. Um. Bye.”

He bolts to his hearse like he’s on fire, and oh god  _ what the hell is his life _ suddenly. What did he do in his last life, was he the Zodiac Killer? He grew up in the Bay Area, after all, but also Ted Cruz is still alive so statistically it’s not likely.

Maybe he was Son of Sam?

He drives home in a weird fugue state, and he enters the Painted Lady with ten minutes to spare.

Phichit breezes by in a goldenrod suit jacket with navy trim on the lapels, a white button up shirt with little embroidered rainbows in a scattered pattern, yellow trousers, and a pair of navy Oxfords. He has a gray and sky blue weekender over one shoulder, and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of aviators with reflective green lenses. “Hi honey, your doggo’s been walked, I won’t be home tonight, how do I look,” Phichit rapid fires.

Yuuri answers him with complete and unabashed honesty. “Like if Esther Quek were an incredibly gay man of Thai origin.”

“Nailed it!” Phichit crows. He kisses Yuuri’s forehead, which since Yuuri is significantly taller than him must be hilarious from a third party perspective. “Byeeeeeeeeee!”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh. He closes the door, and when Vicchan bombards him, he scoops his best four-legged buddy into his arms and plops them both onto their sofa. Vicchan is loving and soft in Yuuri’s arms, and even though Makkachin is amazing, he still missed  _ his _ dog.

His stomach grumbles pointedly, and he’s lazy and under a beautiful poodle, so he one-handedly opens Postmates. He gets two Taro Milk Teas with boba and a curry special combo from Eightea since they have free delivery and a short wait time. Vicchan licks his face, wagging his tail furiously, and Yuuri laughs.

He has an iMessage notification, and it’s from Victor.

_ I already miss you. Wednesday is so far away. _

Yuuri melts.

_ I miss you too. Call me when Chris leaves. _

He’s barely hit send when his phone rings. He holds it to his right ear. “I said when he leaves,” Yuuri scolds with a laugh.

_ He left not long after you did, _ Victor says.  _ He met a guy recently and they’re having brunch together. _

“Oh okay,” Yuuri says, remembering Chris mentioned something to that effect. “Well. Anyways.”

_ I just wanted to hear your voice, _ Victor says.  _ Next time I see you, I need to remember to take photos so I can properly miss you when you're gone. _

Yuuri sends him a pic Phichit took on New Year’s Eve via iMessage. They had a kind of Lonely Hearts Club Party with Seung-Gil, Guang Hong, and Otabek playing one of his mixtapes. They dressed to the nines and drank too much out back by the fire pit, and Phichit bought these giant gold mylar balloons that they all posed with like kids. It was a good night, and the photo is from before Yuuri had a little too much tequila and demo’ed his pole skills in a pair of his underwear, his bowtie, and nothing else.

His hair was gelled back, he wore contacts, and his outfit was all black except for silver embroidery in the bowtie. Even he had to admit he was hot. The sound Victor makes when he sees the photo is the same one he made a few hours ago when they fucked so Yuuri is fairly sure his boyfriend agrees.

Boyfriend. What a word. What a concept. What an idea: a relationship status, being a committed couple? What the  _ fuck _ ? When did this happen?  _ Who even is he? _

Victor clears his throat.  _ Are you alone again, Yuuri? _

Yuuri snorts. “Do you have a one-trick mind, Victor?”

_ I think I’d like to FaceTime so I can meet Sparky, is what I think,  _ Victor announces with no shame.  _ Though, there’s tools in my own arsenal I was going to offer for our little staycation. _

Yuuri groans. “I just ordered food! I can’t do this right now! The delivery guy shouldn’t be subjected to this!”

_ Okay, okay _ , Victor says.  _ Call me tonight? We can talk properly then. _

“It’s a date,” Yuuri says with a smile. “Bye, Victor.”

_ Talk to you soon, my Yuuri _ , Victor says as the call disconnects.

Yuuri flushes at the  _ my _ before his name. He’s never allowed this before…letting someone in, being willing to share, staying instead of bolting at the first sign of intimacy. There have been too many burns etched over his heart and soul. With Victor it’s the first time he’s shown someone his scars, thick and charred like a deterrent.

He has to come clean about Chris, though.

It’s so risky. What if Victor gets mad?

The doorbell rings, and Yuuri answers it, taking his food from the driver. He sips on one of his teas while lost in thought.

Well, he can figure it out before they see each other Wednesday.

He hears Victor’s laugh in his memory, he feels his kiss, the heat of his touch, the crushing sincerity of his affection. Yuuri considers the volume of devastation that will cover him if this all slides out of his grasp because of a month-long-fling almost a year ago.

Yuuri doesn’t taste the tea when he sips it again.

He has to figure this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'ed by Luna and Sim, who are treasures beyond all compare. <3
> 
> I gotta make a playlist for this one like I have all the others. 
> 
> Don't call it a comeback, etc etc etc. Your update was brought to you by a lovely commission thanks to Lia_Rose!
> 
> The lyrics are from Halsey's "Alone" and The Sylistics "You Make Me Feel Brand New." 
> 
> _The plot thickens..._

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh! [This story was selected as the Fic of the Month for October at victuurwriters!](https://victuuriwriters.tumblr.com/post/165948629885/welcome-to-victuuri-writers-collective-fic-of-the)  
> Also, I received this [beautiful mood board](https://shemakesmeforget.tumblr.com/post/167249024863/my-boy-builds-coffins-by-sinkingorswimming) as a gift. Thank you, Chel!


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